THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


LEN  GANSETT 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

OPIE  READ 


Author    of    "The    Starbucks,"    "The    Carpetbagger,"     "Old 

Ebenezer,"   "The  Jucklins,"  "My  Young  Master,"  "On 

the  Suwanee  River,"    "A  Tennessee  Judge,"    "A 

Kentucky    Colonel,"    "  Emmett    Bonlore," 

"The  Wives  of  the  Prophet,"    "The 

Colossus,"    "The  Tear  in   the 

Cup  and  Other  Stories," 


CHICAGO 
LAIRD  &  LEE,  PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,   1888 
BY  TICKNOR  AND  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1902,  by  WM.  H.  LEE 


PS 


PRKKACK 

TO    THE    lo^th    THOUSAND 


This  book  was  written  when  a  certain  neighborhood 
was  fresh  in  mind.  And  there  is  one  little  incident  that 
sustains  me  in  the  belief  that  in  the  delineation  of  these 
characters  I  must  have  hit  upon  the  element  of  truth. 
One  afternoon,  not  long  ago,  I  was  sitting  beneath  a  tree 
in  the  neighborhood  where  these  scenes  are  laid,  talking 
to  an  old  justice  of  the  peace.  Presently  he  said  : 

"  By  the  way,  yonder  comes  old  man  Gentry.  The 
other  day  I  gave  him  that  Len  Gansett  book  and  told 
him  lo  take  it  home  and  let  his  v/ife  read  it  to  him 
—  can't  read  himself.  Now  we'll  hear  what  he's  got 
to  say  about  it." 

The  old  man  came  along,  driving  a  mule  and  a  red 
steer  hitched  to  a  wagon,  and  when  he  was  abreast  of 
us,  the  justice  spoke  to  him. 

"  Howdy  Mr.  Gentry." 

"Whoa — hor,  come  yere  Buck.  Wy  howdy,  'Squire," 

"  Take  that  book  home  with  you  ?  ' ' 

"Yep." 

"Your  wife  read  it  to  you?" 

"Ah,  hah." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

The  old  man  scratched  his  head.  "W'y,  'Squire, 
that  ain't  no  book  at  all.  I've  hearn  folks  talk  thatter 
way  all  my  life." 

It  was  better  than  a  thousand  words  from  a  recog 
nized  critic. 


2062G10 


LBN  GANSETT. 


i. 

"WELL,"  how're  you  pleased  with  the  place  by  this 
time?"  remarked  old  Bob  Gansett,  addressing  his  grand 
son,  who,  a  few  days  before,  had  arrived  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  Abbott's  Ford. 

"I  am  very  much  pleased." 

"Ah,  hah,  I  s'pose  so.  What  do  you  say  your  fust 
name  is?" 

"Now,  pap,"  interposed  old  Mrs.  Gansett,  "I  don't 
want  you  to  torment  the  child.  You  know  his  name's 
Lenqubees,  an'  what  makes  you-want  to  keep  on  a-askin' 
an'  a-askin'  o'  him?" 

The  old  man's  eyes  winked  with  merriment.  "Lenqu 
bees,"  he  repeated.  Well,  I'll  swear!  Lenqubees! 
Well,  I  hope  it  won't  result  in  nothin'  bad.  How  old 
are  you?" 

"I  am  going  on  twenty-two." 

"Had"  that  name  all  the  time?" 

"Of  course  I  have." 

"I  didn't  know.  Didn't  know  you  could  stand  it 
that  long." 

Again  the  old  lady  remonstrated.  "You  know  very 
well  when  he  was  named,"  she  said;  "know  it  as  well 
as  I  do,  every  bit  an'  grain." 


Q  LEN  OANSETT. 

"Oil,  I  mout  o'  heard  something  about  it,  Sarah;  but 
it  passed  out  o'  my  mind/' 

"I  am  sorry/'  said  the  young  man,  with  an  air  of 
annoyance,  "that  you  are  so  much  exercised  over  my 
name.  It  is  the  name  which  my  father — your  eon — 
gave  me." 

"That  may  be  true,"  old  Bob  replied;  "but  Hildenroy 
never  did  have  good  jedgment." 

"Hildenroy,"  repeated  young  Gansett.  The  two  men 
looked  at  each  other  and  laughed.  Then  the  old  man 
acknowledged  that  he  had  bestowed  upon  his  son  the 
name  of  Hildenroy,  and  after  an  argument  in  which  he 
exhibited  much  tact,  he  agreed  that  the  name  had  an 
odd  sound;  but  even  after  this  he  continued  to  repeat 
the  name  of  his  grandson  as  though  it  had  taken 
possession  of  him. 

The  neighborhood  of  Abbott's  Ford  is  situated  in 
one  of  the  northern  counties  of  Arkansas.  Six  Points 
river,  which  runs  through  the  neighborhood,  is  fordable 
at  any  place,  and  why  any  ford  should  be  specially 
designated  is  beyond  the  power  of  any  man  to  make 
clear.  The  neighborhood  of  Abbott's  Ford  is  not  a  wild 
section  of  country.  Many  of  its  farm-houses  are  moss- 
grown,  and  many  of  its  fields,  long  since  worn,  by  suc 
cession  of  corn  crops,  into  sterility,  have  been  thrown 
out  to  grow  up  in  persimmon  and  sassafras  bushes.  The 
people  have  never  held  education  in  high  esteem.  They 
argued,  many  of  them,  that  education  had  been  largely 
instrumental  in  causing  the  war,  and  that  they  would 
rather  be  ignorant  and  contented  than  to  be  educated 
and  unhappy.  Schools,  however,  were  not  wholly  un- 


LEN  GANSETT.  7 

known  in  the  neighborhood  of  Abbott's  Ford,  for 
"readin',  'ritin',  an'  'rithmetie"  were,  during  three 
months  of  the  year,  taught  in  the  Ebeneezer  meeting 
house.  The  higher  branches  of  learning  were  con 
demned,  and  grammar  was  looked  upon  with  especial 
disfavor.  The  circuit  rider,  at  the  time  to  which  this 
story  relates,  was  a  man  of  great  importance;  and  to  him 
many  good  people  looked  for  information,  not  alone 
that  which  concerned  their  soul's,  but,  in  great  part, 
the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood.  He  was  a  kind  of  news 
letter.  He  prayed  earnestly,  and  ate  with  vigor  and 
relish.  He  sang  lustily,  and,  with  marked  pertinacity, 
insisted  that  his  meagre  salary  should  be  paid. 

Robert  Gansett  and  his  wife,  while  they  were  both 
young,  settled  in  the  Abbott's  Ford  neighborhood,  hav 
ing  come  from  Tennessee.  Old  Bob,  as  nearly  every 
one  called  him,  was  a  man  of  good  sense,  but  of  little 
education.  While  a  young  man  he  possessed  a  passion 
for  horse-racing,  and  when  he  became  old,  although 
he  had  long  since  allied  his  speculative  destinies  with 
those  of  a  church,  there  was  still  about  him  a  perceptible 
fondness  for  spirited  horse-flesh.  His  temper,  humor 
ously  equable,  rendered  him  an  agreeable  companion. 
He  was  quizzical  and  prankish;  he  was  kind-hearted 
and  generous.  The  wild  bursts  of  laughter  which  had 
characterized  him  in  youth  had  settled  down  into  a 
smile  and  hearty  chuckle,  which  characterized  him  now 
that  the  noon  of  life  was  long  since  past.  His  beard 
was  bushy  and  iron-gray;  his  mouth,  when  in  repose, 
indicated  strength  of  purpose,  and  his  eyes  had  the 


g  LEN  OANSETT. 

effect  of  making  one  believe  that  their  owner  was  speak 
ing  the  truth. 

Mrs.  Gansett,  borrowing  an  expression  often  used  by 
the  neighbors,  was  as  good  an  old  soul  as  ever  lived. 
"With  tenderness  she  cared  for  the  afflicted,  and  she  knew 
that  every  one  who  died  was  better  off.  Life  to  her  was 
merely  a  season  during  which  to  prepare  for  death. 
Often  during  revivals  she  would  shout  as  though  her 
quart  cup  of  great  joy  were  overflowing;  and  without 
her  presence  the  mourner's  bench  seemed  to  languish. 
The  preachers  may  have  been  the  lamp,  and  the  ex- 
horters  may  have  been  the  wick,  but  she  was  the  oil. 

Len  Gansett  had  come  to  live  with  his  grand-parents. 
His  father  and  mother  were  dead.  The  young  man  was 
tall  and  strong,  was  well  educated,  but  did  not  appear 
to  be  especially  fitted  for  anything.  He  was  not  an  idle 
dreamer,  but  his  fondness  for  reading  novels  was  much 
mc-re  pronounced  than  his  disposition  to  perform  any 
kind  of  labor.  He  had  lived  in  N^ew  Orleans,  had 
"roughed  it"  with  cowboys  in  Texas,  and  he  had  stood 
behind  the  counter  of  a  St.  Louis  dollar-store.  He  had 
not  long  been  connected  with  the  establishment  when 
the  proprietor  called  him  one  day  and  said: — 

"Gansett,  you  don't  seem  to  get  the  hang  of  things." 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  don't." 

"You  are  afraid  so?  Why,  confound  it!  you  don't 
try.  This  morning  I  noticed  that  you  kept  a  book  be 
hind  the  counter,  and  that  you  paid  more  attention  to 
it  than  to  my  customers.  Can't  stand  that,  Gansett. 
Guess  you'd  better  go." 


LEN  GANSETT.  9 

The  young  man,  having  failed  in  every  previous 
undertaking,  was  now  more  than  ever  cast  down. 

He  had  congratulated  himself  upon  having  at  last 
found  something  for  which  he  was  fitted,  but  he  soon 
heard  mutterings  which  warned  him  that  somehow  he 
was  not  giving  satisfaction.  He  did  not  seem  to  think 
that  there  could  be  the  least  objection  to  his  turning 
to  a  book  when  there  were  no  customers  demanding  his 
services.  After  receiving  his  discharge  he  went  to  his 
lodgings,  where  he  found  a  letter  from  his  prandparents 
urging  him  to  come  and  live  with  them.  Within  an 
hour  from  the  time  of  receiving  the  letter  young  Gan- 
sett  was  on  a  St.  Louis  and  Iron  Mountain  railway 
train,  rushing  toward  his  new  home.  A  day's  ride  in  a 
stage-coach  completed  the  journey.  He  was  delighted 
with  the  old  place.  The  Gansett  farm  was  one  of  the 
best  in  the  country,  and  the  Gansetts  were  held  in  high 
esteem.  The  old  house,  part  stone  and  part  wood,  was 
situated  on  a  hill  near  the  river,  and  was  surrounded  by 
great  trees.  To  the  young  man  who  had  been  so  much 
knocked  about,  the  old  place  breathed  a  promise  of  rest. 
At  first  -he  hardly  knew  how  to  take  his  frolicsome 
grandfather,  but  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  that  the 
old  man  was  a  man  of  excellent  sense,  and  that,  not 
withstanding  his  prankish  disposition,  he  was  gentle 
and  kindhearted.  Len  had  just  returned  from  a  visit 
to  Dogwood,  a  small  village  about  two  miles  distant 
from  the  Gansett  farm,  when  the  old  man  asked  him  the 
question  which  opens  the  first  chapter  of  this  story. 

"Lenqubees,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  are  pretty  well 


10  LEN  GANSETT. 

put  together,  an'  I  don't  have  no  doubt  but  what  you 
can  make  a  mule  powerful  tired  in  the  course  of  a  day." 

"I  prefer  riding  a  horse/'  the  young  man  replied. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  for  you  to  ride  the  mule,  but  walk 
behind  him.  Hand  me  that  pipe  up  there  on  the  man 
telpiece.  Look  out,  don't  knock  off  the  camfire  bottle." 

Len  handed  him  the  pipe,  and  when  the  old  man  had 
filled  it  with  tobacco  he  began  carefully  to  pick  up  the 
crumbs  which  had  fallen  on  his  knee. 

"You  pick  up  those  crumbs  as  if  you  had  not  a  barn 
full  of  tobacco.  You  are  surely  a  rigid  economist,  and 
you  make  me  think  with  regret  of  how  I  used  to 
squander  my  salary." 

"I  never  squandered  a  cent  of  money  in  my  life,"  the 
old  man  rejoined.  "I  have  given  money  to  the  needy, 
but  I  never  wasted  it.  Economy  ain't  a  habit  with  me; 
it's  a  nature." 

"Never  squandered  money,  you  say?  How  about 
horse-racing  in  your  younger  days?  Don't  mean  that 
you  always  won,  do  you?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  often  lost,  but  I  took  care  to  see  that  the 
men  who  won  were  needy.  I  never  squandered  a  cent, 
Lenqubees." 

Mrs.  Ganseitt  had  left  the  room  to  drive  a  hen  out  of 
the  kitchen.  "Air  you  still  a-twittin'  o'  that  child?" 
she  asked,  upon  reentering  the  room.  "I  declare,  pap, 
that  you  act  like  you  never  heard  o'  it  before.  Don't 
you  know  that  his  mother  wrote  to  us — Hildenroy  never 
would  write — and  told  us  what  they  had  named  the 
child,  an'  don't  you  know  you  said  you'd  bet  he  lived? 
An'  I  know  you  hurt  my  feelin's,  for  when  I  asked  you 


LEN  GANSETT.  H 

how  you  knowed,  you  'lowed  that  a  child  that  could 
stand  such  a  name  two  weeks  would  live  to  split  his 
cradle  into  kindlin'  wood.  Len,  don't  let  your  grandpa 
torment  you,  for  he's  gettin'  childish,  I  do  believe." 

The  old  lady,  thoroughly  satisfied  with  the  remarks 
she  had  made,  settled  herself  back  in  her  chair,  and  the 
old  man  blew  smoke  through  a  grin. 

"Oh,  we  are  on  the  best  of  terms/'  Len  replied.  "He 
is  more  than  welcome  to  all  the  amusement  which  my 
name  can  furnish.  By  the  way,"  he  added,  rising  and 
taking  down  a  gun  from  a  rack  over  the  door,  "believe 
I'll  go  down  to  the  river  and  see  if  any  ducks  have  come 
in." 

"It's  rather  too  soon  in  the  season  for  'em,"  the  old 
man  said. 

"Well,  I'll  go  anyway.  Perhaps  some  of  the  skirmish 
ers  have  come." 

"That  youngster  is  full  of  the  'Old  Harry/  "  said  old 
Bob  Gansett  when  Len  had  quitted  the  house.  "He's 
mighty  quiet  now,  but  he's  only  feelin'  his  way.  I  don't 
think,  though,  that  he's  lazy,  an'  as  long  as  he  ain't  that 
I  ken  put 'up  with  him.  I  do  believe  that  laziness  is  the 
unpardonable  sin." 

"Pap,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  talk  that  way." 

"I  do,  Sarah,  sho's  you're  born'd  I  do.  Just  take  a 
man  that  won't  work  an'  he's  ginerally  putty  well  filled 
up  with  nearly  all  the  other  sins.  A  man  that  won't 
work  ain't  no  'count." 

Len  turned  towards  the  river  and  thus  mused  as  he 
slowly  walked  along:  "AVhat  an  odd  old  gentleman! 
Time  has  not  relieved  him  of  his  love  of  fun.  It  is  said 


12  LEN  GANSETT. 

that  humor  ripens  slowly,  and  I  believe  that  it  does. 
His  fun  is  a  kind  of  autumnleaf  rustle, — not  the  dry 
leaf,  for  that  would  be  satire  instead  of  humor;  but  the 
red  and  yellow  leaf,  from  which  the  sap  has  not  all  been 
drawn.  There  is  a  freshness  here  with  which  I  find 
myself  falling  in  love.  This  country  is  rude,  but  it  is 
not  raw,  for  there  is  a  mellowness  everywhere.  Those 
great  rocks  in  their  skirts  of  gray  and  caps  of  green  moss 
are  grand.  Here  is  where  my  father  played  when  he 
was  a  boy.  I  have  heard  him  talk  of  the  wonderful  fish 
he  used  to  catch  out  of  this  river." 

He  stood  on  the  bank  of  the  river  and  thoughtfully 
looked  at  the  beautiful  stream.  The  first  frost  had 
fallen,  but  it  had  been  so  light  that  the  cotton  stalk 
seemed  to  stand  in  surprise,  not  knowing  whether  to 
curl  up  its  top  leaves  in  obedience  to  the  warning  chill 
or  to  hold  up  its  head  and  open  its  top  boll;  but  the 
sycamore-tree,  more  easily  discouraged,  threw  down  its 
leaves  and  waved  its  bare  arms  in  the  evening's  long- 
drawn  sigh. 

"Not  a  duck  in  sight,"  mused  the  young  man.  "Prob 
ably  I  may  find  a  squirrel.  Grandpa  laughs  at  me  so 
much  that  I  don't  want  to  go  back  empty-handed.  He 
must  take  me  for  a  child,  when  in  fact  he  would  feel 
much  older  if  he  had  passed  through  a  few  years  of  my 
experience." 

He  turned  into  a  narrow  ravine.  The  summer's  sun 
had  drawn  nearly  all  the  water  from  the  little  stream 
which  was  wont  to  flow  through  the  ravine,  and  as  the 
autumnal  rains  had  been  light  there  only  remained  a 
succession  of  small  pools,  so  closely  covered  with  leaves 


LEN  GANSETT.  13 

that  they  could  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  smooth 
patches  of  earth.  Len  had  proceeded  but  a  short  dis 
tance  when  he  stepped  into  one  of  the  pools.  Just  then 
he  heard  a  merry,  ringing  laugh.  Looking  up,  he  saw 
a  girl  sitting  on  a  rock. 

"You  laughed  just  in  time,  young  lady,"  said  he,  as 
he  turned  and  began  to  climb  toward  the  rock  on  which 
the  girl  was  sitting. 

"Why?"  she  asked  when  he  had  approached  her. 

"Because  you  might  have  heard  something  stronger 
than  polite." 

"Oh,  hoi"  she  said,  "that  wouldenter  made  no  dif- 
funce,  fur  dad  he  cusses  nearly  all  the  time.  He  cusses 
the  rheumatiz,  an'  when  the  rheumatiz  ain't  a-naggin' 
an'  a-peckin'  at  him,  he  cusses  the  cow.  He's  the  out- 
cussenest  an'  the  outdationest  man  about  some  things 
you  ever  seen." 

"May  I  sit  down?"  Len  asked. 

"Yes,  if  you're  tired,  squat.    I  ain't  a-carin'." 

The  girl-'s  face  was  pretty  and  her  form  was  indescrib 
ably  graceful,  like  a  perfect  letter  found  on  a  page  of 
bad  manuscript  and  which  seems  to  have  been  made  by 
accident.  Her  eyes  were  as  brown  as  the  leaves  in  the 
pool,  and  her  hair  was  as  brown  as  her  eyes. 

"What  made  your  hands  so  black,  little  miss?" 

"I'm  not  a  little  miss." 

"What  are  you?" 

"Dad  says  I'm  a  gigglin'  gal." 

"You  haven't  answered  my  question.  What  is  the 
matter  with  your  hands?" 


14  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Wa'nut  stain.  Been  a-hullin'  uv  wannuts  fur  win- 
wr." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Ned  Hobdy." 

"That's  a  strange  name  for  a  girl." 

'^What's  yer  name?" 

<4Len  Gansett." 

"Yes,  an'  Lenqubees  is  a  mighty  strange  name  fur 
anybody,  I'm  a-thinkin'." 

"How  do  you  know  my  name  is — " 

"Oh,  yer  gran'mammy  tole  me  all  about  how  she  was 
a-goiii'  ter  write  ter  yer.  Say,  do  I  talk  like  a  nigger?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  such  a  question?" 

"'Cause  when  I  went  to  school  over  at  Ebeneezer  the 
fool  woman — the  pert  thing — what  teached  the  school 
said  that  I  talked  like  a  nigger.  I  kain't  help  it  ef  I 
do,  an',  mor'n  that'  thar's  a  plenty  uv  the  folks  in  this 
here  neighborhood  that  talks  as  bad  as  I  does — yes,  a 
all-fired  sight  of  'em." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"Never  mine  axin"  till  yer've  answered.  Do  I  talk 
like  er  nigger?" 

"No,  you  remind  me  more  of  a  wild  bird." 

"Oh,  git  out!"  she  exclaimed,  though  not  in  ill-humor, 
for  before  Gansett  could  apologize  for  a  remark  which 
he  feared  had  offended  her,  she  said,  "I  live  about  a  mile 
from  here — in  a  little  ole  house  that  yer  wouldn't  hardly 
stop  to  look  at.  My  mother  is  dead,  an'  I  reckon  that's 
the  reason  I  talk  like  a  nigger.  I  kain't  recolleck  her, 
but  they  tell  me  that  she  died  er  praisin'  the  Lawd,  but 
it  won't  be  thater  way  with  pap.  He'll  die  a  cussin'  uv 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  15 

the  cow.  Wall,  I  must  be  a-gittin'  home,  fur  it's  gittin' 
dark.v 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  go  with  you?" 

"Not  much  I  don't.  Talk  'bout  a  twelve-year-ole 
gal  flyin'  roun'  with  comp'ny.  W'y,  man,  yer  mus'  be 
crazy." 

"Well,  good-by,  Miss  Ned." 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Bumblebees." 

Darkness  came  on  before  Len  reached  the  house. 

"I'll  play  a  joke  on  the  old  gentleman,"  he  said  when 
he  had  reached  the  yard  fence.  He  lay  down  by  the 
fence,  and  began  to  squall  like  a  chicken  in  distress. 
Instantly  a  door  flew  open,  and  the  old  man  Gansett, 
bareheaded  and  excited,  bounded  out  into  the  yard. 

"Shew!  shew!"  he  cried.  "Sarah,  cadfound  the  luck! 
the  boy's  got  the  gun,  an'  the  deternal  owls  air  a-totin' 
off  all  the  chickens.  Shew,  there!" 

Len  roared  with  laughter.  "Well,  I'll  be  pestered  if 
it  ain't  the  fetchtaked  boy,"  said  the  old  man.  "Sarah, 
I  told  you  he  was  full  o'  the  'Ole  Harry.'  Come  on  in 
an*  git  your  supper.  Never  mind,  ole  feller.  I'll  bet 
you  a  thousan'  dollars  that  I  git  even  with  you,  see  ef  I 
don't." 


16  LEN  QAN8ETT. 


II. 

DOGWOOD  was  a  village  consisting  of  a  dozen  dwell 
ings,  three  rude  storehouses,  and  the  office  of  the 
"Weekly  Picket."  Len  Gansett,  soon  after  his  arrival, 
had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  Hon.  Mangus  Dock 
ery,  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  "Picket."  The  journal 
ist  had  shown  Len  many  marks  of  favor,  and  had  invited 
him  to  write  for  his  paper. 

"You  might  write  me  something  funny/'  the  editor 
said.  "Everybody  likes  fun,  and  I  am  something  of  a 
humorist.  As  you  lived  in  New  Orleans  you  might  have 
noticed  that  one  of  the  papers  there  copied  a  thing  from 
me.  No,  it  wasn't  humorous.  It  was — let  me  see — 
something  about  the  cotton  crop,  I  believe.  Yes,  gave 
me  credit  for  it — right  up  to  the  handle." 

Mr.  Dockery  wore  jean  trousers  and  a  sort  of  linsey 
waistcoat,  but  his  coat  was  "store  made."  He  wore 
high-heeled  boots.  His  face,  in  obedience  to  the  de 
mand  of  a  strong  nature,  revealed  the  importance  and 
responsibility  of  his  position,  yet  Mr.  Dockery  was  not 
imperious.  He  had  often  gone  to  one  of  the  merchants 
and"  said,  "I  just  lack  seventy-five  cents  of  'having  money 
enough  to  get  out  my  paper  this  week.  It  will  contain 
a  handsome  notice  of  your  improved  facilities  for  doing 
business,  and,  if  you  want — never  mind.  I  was  about  to 
to  say  that  if  you  would  let  me  have  the  seventy-five 
cents — but  really  I  am  already  under  numerous  obliga 
tions  to  you." 


LEN  GANSETT.  17 

Mr.  Dockery  was  once  a  candidate  for  state  land 
commissioner,,  and  although  his  name  was  not 
mentioned  in  the  convention,  yet  he  could  justifiably 
assume  the  title  of  "honorable."  He  was  a  very  handy 
man  in  the  community,  was  courteous  to  strangers,  and 
always  felt  that  he  was  performing  no  more  than  his 
duty  when  he  showed  them  into  a  back-room  where  the 
"Blind  Tiger's"  teeth  could  be  seen.  Dockery  was  much 
attached  to  the  Gansetts,  not  especially  because  the  old 
man  was  a  subscriber  to  the  "Picket,"  but  doubtless 
because  butter  and  chickens,  brought  from  the  Gansett 
farm,  were  often  left  at  the  printing-office. 

Early  one  morning  the  Hon.  Mr.  Dockery  called  at 
the  Gansett  house,  and  requested  Len  to  go  home  with 
him. 

"My  object  is  a  selfish  one,  I  must  acknowledge,"  he 
said.  "The  fact  is,  I  ain  rather  pushed  this  week.  A 
delinquent  tax-list  came  in  on  me  yesterday  evening, 
and  if  I  pay  the  proper  attention  to  it  I  fear  that  I  shall 
not  have  time  enough  to  do  my  news  columns  justice; 
so,  my  dear  young  friend,  I  want  you  to  do  some  writing 
for  me." 

"I  have  never  written  anything  for  publication,"  Len 
replied,  "and  I  fear  that  I  could  not  get  up  anything 
in  the  proper  shape." 

"Why,  my  dear  sir,"  Mr.  Dockery  laughed,  "who  but 
a  professional  editor  can  get  up  anything  in  the  proper 
shape?  I  will  give  you  the  points  that  I  want  written 
up,  and  I  can  revise  what  you  have  written." 

"Go  on,  Lenqubees,"  said  old  man  Gansett.     "You 


18  LEN  GANSETT. 

can't  write  up  nothin'  much  wus  than  it  has  been  wrote 
up  in  the  past." 

The  editor  winced,  but  agreed  with  the  old  man. 
"Why,  come  on/'  he  urged.  "I  am  sure  that  when  you 
see  your  matter  in  print  you'll  not  be  ashamed  of  it.  I 
know  exactly  how  you  feel,  for  I  was  once  an  amateur 
myself." 

Len,  without  further  protest,  accompanied  the  editor. 
The  home  of  the  "Weekly  Picket"  was  constructed  of 
rough  oak  boards,  set  up  endwise.  The  house  had  been 
built  while  the  lumber  was  green,  and  the  consequent 
shrinkage  had  left  cracks  so  large  that  the  editor  was 
never  placed  under  the  necessity  of  raising  a  window 
for  want  of  air.  A  placard  tacked  on  the  door  bore  the 
following  announcement:  "Having  purchased  a  com 
plete  outfit  of  latest  styles  of  types,  we  are  prepared  to 
do  all  kinds  of  job  printing." 

A  strong  man,  at  one  load,  could  have  carried  away  all 
the  types  owned  by  the  Hon.  Mr.  Dockery,  yet  the 
editor  was  prepared  to  do  all  kinds  of  work.  The  hand- 
press  was  old  and  battered,  and  the  "cases,"  judging 
from  their  ancient  appearance,  might  have  been  used  in 
Jacobite  garrets  in  the  reign  of  William  III. 

"Go  in,"  said  the  editor,  opening  the  door  and  majes 
tically  waving  his  hand.  "Now,"  he  continued  when 
they  had  entered,  "we'll  sit  down  and  smoke  a  while 
and  then  go  to  work.  Come  in!" 

Some  one  had  knocked  at  the  door.  Four  men 
entered.  They  were  introduced  as  Mort  Haney,  Asa 
More,  Andy  Tillotson,  and  Eufus  Malone.  They  were 
uneducated  farmers,  and  had  come,  they  said,  to  "jaw" 


LEN  GANSETT.  19 

the  editor  awhile.  Len  had  heard  his  grandfather  speak 
of  the  men,  particularly  of  Mort  Haney.  Haney  was  a 
gaunt,  gray-eyed  man  with  stiff  hair.  Shortly  after 
receiving  an  introduction  to  Len,  Haney  said: — 

"Wall,  how  do  yer  like  it  out  here?" 

"Very  well,"  Len  replied. 

"Find  a  good  deal  of  ignunce,  I  reckon?" 

"I  haven't  been  around  very  much — " 

"Oh,  yer  mean  that  yer  ain't  found  it  yit,  but  'low 
ter  find  it  when  yer  do  go  round?" 

"You  misunderstand  me,  Mr.  Haney.  I  do  not  mean 
to  cast  any  reflections  on  the  people  of  this  commnuity. 
My  father  was  born  and  reared  in  this  part  of  the 
country,  and  I  would  be  the  last  man  in  the  world — " 

"Come,  gentlemen,"  interposed  the  editor,  "don't  let 
us  have  a  misunderstanding.  Mr.  Gansett,  these  men 
can't  write  like  a  professional,  but  they  are  honest." 

Asa  More:  "Yer  bet  we  air,  Dockery.  We  ain't 
speech-makers,  but  we  air  as  good  j  edges  uv  human 
timber  as  the  next  crowd  that  comes  along." 

Andy  Tillotson:  "I  believe  I'm  as  good  as  any  man, 
,an'  dam'f  I  ain't  willin'  ter  undertake  ter  prove  it." 

Eufus  Malone:  "I  never  was  much  uv  a  fighter,  but 
I  ain't  been  whupped  yit." 

Len:  "Gentlemen,  you  misunderstand  me,  are  led 
astray  by  the  misconception  of  Mr.  Haney.  He  thought 
and  without  cause,  that  I  had  cast  imputations  upon 
this  neighborhood,  when,  in  fact,  nothing  was  farther 
from  my  intention.  It  is  sometimes  a  very  difficult  mat 
ter  to  explain  the  simplest  mistake;  so  now,  gentlemen, 
if  I  have  said  anything  to  wound  any  one's  feelings  or 


20  LEN  GANSETT. 

to  arouse  any  one's  resentment,  I  am  sorry  for  it,  and 
I  humbly  beg  pardon." 

Dockery:  "Hang  it,  men,  don't  jower.  Len,  I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  but  our  friends  have  been  drink 
ing  a  little,  and  we  must  therefore  excuse  them." 

Mort  Haney:  "Nobody  axed  yer  ter  excuse  us,  Dock, 
an'  I  don't  reckon  that  nobody  wants  yer  ter.  I  wuz  er 
talkin'  ter  this  high-ferlutin'  chap  here.  They  say  he's 
lazy  an'  won't  work,  an'  that's  putty  nigh  anough  fur 
me  at  the  fust  offstart." 

Len  (angrily):  "I  have  not  asked  you  for  your 
opinion  of  me,  sir.  I  have  begged  your  pardon  simply 
because  you  hadn't  sense  enough  to  understand  me — " 

Asa  More:  "Dam'f  I  don't  believe  this  thing's  a-get- 
tin'  a  leetle  too  warm  for  me." 

Haney:  "Hold  on,  Asa,  an'  don't  go,  fur  I  want  you 
to  see  me  through  with  this  thing.  I  never  urged  this 
here  fuss,  an'  I  ain't  responsible  fur  it." 

Dockery:  "Gentlemen,  I  am  very  sorry  that  this  mis 
understanding  should  have  occurred.  I  know  that  old 
man  Gansett  will  be  sorry  when  he  hears  of  this,  all  the 
outgrowth  of  the  slightest  misunderstanding." 

Haney:    "Damn  old  man  Gansett!" 

Len  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  was  instantly  seized  by 
More  and  Tillotson. 

"Come,  now,"  said.  More,  as  he  forced  Len  back  into 
the  arm-chair  from  which  he  had  arisen,  "none  uv  this, 
er  yer5!!  git  yerse'f  inter  buz'ness." 

Haney:  "Boys,  yer  all  know  me  well  miff  ter  know 
that  I  ain't  goin'  ter  stan'  no  break  like  that.  No  man 
ken.  'wolf  me  like  that/' 


LEN  GANSETT.  21 

Dockery:  "I  regret  it  very  much,  Len,  but  this 
means  immediate  business." 

Len  (somewhat  cooled  down):  ''How  does  it  mean 
business?  It  simply  means  that  Haney  is  a  fool  for  mis 
understanding  a  simple  remark." 

Tillotson:  "No,  young  feller,  it  means  a  good  bit 
mor'n  that.  Haney  won't  put  up  with  no  man's  slack, 
lemme  tell  yer,  an'  if  thar  ain't  a  change  mighty  quick 
thar'll  be  some  powder  er  burnin'  roun'  here." 

Haney:  "Now  yer  talkin'.  I  ain't  never  tuck  the 
'vantage  uv  no  man  yit,  an'  I'll  gin  him  a  show." 

Dockery:  "Len,  you'll  have  to  fight;  I  see  no  other 
way." 

Len  (excitedly):  "I  am  willing  to  fight,  Mr.  Dockery, 
but  I  don't  want  to  commit  murder  or  to  be  murdered." 

More:  "The  means  air  honorable.  Dock  has  a 
couple  uv  hoss  pistols  here." 

Dockery  (who  has  often  marked  paragraphs  in  the 
papers  which  he  sent  to  exchanges):  "Perhaps  the 
gentlemen  prefer  Colt's?" 

Haney:  "Wall,  it  don't  make  no  difference  with  me, 
only  so  fur  as  I  have  a  chance  ter  vindercate  myse'f ;  but 
thar's  goin'  ter  be  a  fight,  an'  all  hell  can't  prevent  it. 
Asa  More,  I  challenge  that  thing  settin'  thar,  an'  I  want 
yer  ter  be  my  secon'." 

More:  "I'm  with  yer,  fur  I  know  yer've  been  in 
sulted." 

Dockery  (approaching  Len  and  placing  his  hand  on 
the  young  man's  shoulder):  "My  dear  friend,  I  don't 
see  how  you  can  get  out  of  it.  Say  (in  an  undertone), 


22  LEN  GANSETT. 

that  fellow  ain't  much  of  a  shot.  He'll  fight,  but  don't 
let  him  frighten  you." 

Len:    "I'm  not  frightened,  but — " 

Haney  (overhearing  the  remark):  "Yes,  yer  air 
skeered.  Yer  air  a  damn  coward,  an'  yer  know  it." 

Len  (springing  to  his  feet  and  striking  a  table  with 
his  clenched  hand):  "Haney,  you've  forced  this  on  me, 
and  now,  damn  you,  take  the  consequences.  Lead  on, 
Dockery.  I  don't  care  whether  we  use  pistols  or 
cannons." 


LEN  GANSETT.  23 


III. 

THERE  was  no  excitement  in  the  village,  for  no  one 
except  the  men  who  witnessed  the  quarrel  between  Len 
and  Haney  supposed  that  a  duel  was  about  to  take  place. 
Haney  was  insolently  cool.  Len  was  somewhat  excited. 

"This  is  a  very  unfortunate  affair,  Gansett,"  said 
Dockery,  taking  Len's  arm,  "and  I  hope  you  won't  think 
that  it  is  the  way  in  which  we  in  general  conduct  such 
matters.  'Some  of  the  finest  compositions  I  ever  saw 
were  communications  growing  out  of  little  social  dif 
ferences,  and  which  led  to  vindications  of  honor.  I  am 
sorry,  for  your  grandfather's  sake,  that  these  arrange 
ments  could  not  have  been  touched  up  with  a  little  more 
elegant  formality." 

Len  shuddered,  and  the  editor  continued:  "Haven't 
got  a  chill,  I  hope.  If  you  have,  I  would  like  to  recom 
mend  Peggleston's  Pills;  they  are  advertised  in  the 
Ticket.' " 

"Dockery,  this  is  all  foolishness,"  Len  replied.  "I 
was  brought  up  in  a  civilized  way,  and  I  don't  believe  in 
such  butchery.  Say,  Mr.  Haney,"  stopping  and  ad 
dressing  the  "fire-eater,"  who  strolled  along  a  short  dis 
tance  behind,  "can't  we  arrange  this  disgusting  affair?" 

"Ef  yer  ain't  a  coward,  go  on.  It'll  mighty  soon  be 
arranged." 

"Come,  Gansett,"  said  the  editor,  "there  is  no  alter 
native." 

Len,  without  attempting  further  to  settle  the  affair, 


24  LEN  GANSETT. 

suffered  himself  to  -be  led  away.  The  place  selected 
was  a  dreary  sandbar,  partly  overgrown  with  stubby 
bushes.  Len  stood  for  a  moment  and  gazed  at  the  river. 
He  had  but  a  few  moments'  time,  for  Dockery,  thrust 
ing  a  pistol  into  the  young  man's  hand,  said: — 

"He's  standing  off  there  waiting  for  you.  Don't 
tremble  that  way.  Aim  at  his  breast.  That's  right; 
brace  yourself." 

Haney  showed  no  signs  of  fear.  Len  had  hoped  that 
the  impetuous  man  would,  when  he  saw  the  near 
approach  of  blood,  consent  to  some  sort  of  com 
promise;  but  Haney's  calm  determination  tore  loose 
hope's  last  ligament,  and,  addressing  the  editor,  he  said, 
"Dockery,  you  know  that  I  didn't  bring  this  on.  I  tried 
to  get  out  of  it.  Please  tell  my  grandfather — " 

"How  much  longer  air  yer  goin'  ter  palaver?"  shouted 
Haney. 

"Stand  steady,  Len,"  said  Dockery  as  he  turned  away. 
"Now  you're  all  right." 

Haney,  whose  lankness  gave  him  the  appearance  of 
superior  height,  stood  erect  and  defiant.  A  breeze 
stirred  his  long  hair.  The  signal  was  given.  The  two 
reports  were  almost  simultaneous.  Len  did  not  move. 
Haney  staggered  and  fell.  Dockery  ran  to  Len  and,  in 
a  voice  not  free  from  agitation,  said: — 

"Come,  let  us  get  away  from  here.  Don't  go  and  look 
at  him;  the  remembrance  will  only  make  you  feel  worse 
when  reaction  sets  in.  You  have  killed  him.  Come  on, 
I  tell  you!"  excitably  grasping  Len's  arm.  "Damn  it, 
man,  we'll  be  arrested  for  murder." 

Len  no  longer  hesitated.    When  Dockery  pronounced 


LEN  GANSETT.  25 

the  word  "murder"  the  young  man  caught  his  breath 
with  a  quick  gasp;  and,  turning,  he  followed  the  editor, 
who,  with  strides  more  far-reaching  than  graceful,  was 
hurrying  away. 

"I  don't  know  wh'at  to  do/'  said  Len,  catching  up  with 
Dockery.  "I  am  half  inclined  to  give  myself  up/' 

"Then  you  are  just  half  a  fool,  that's  all.  Confound 
it,  don't  you  know  that  they'll  hang  you?  Let's  keep 
close  to  the  river  till  we  get  to  your  grandfather's  place. 
We'll  stop  at  the  house  as  if  nothing  had  happened  and 
get  a  couple  of  horses.  We  won't  tell -the  old  folks  any 
thing  about  it,  but  will  manage  to  send  the  horses  back 
after  we  are  safe.  Geewhilikans,  man,  you  are  as  pale 
as  a  ghost.  Let  me  take  the  pistol.  I  reckon  the  boys'll 
take  care  of  the  other  one." 

"Dockery,"  said  Len,  when  they  had  gone  some  dis 
tance,  "do  you  think  I  am  a  murderer?" 

"Of  course  I  don't  think  so,"  the  editor  replied;  "but," 
he  added,  in  a  tone  of  voke  by  no  means  reassuring, 
"the  law'll  care  devilish  little  for  what  I  think.  They'll 
hold  me  as  accessory  before  the  fact." 

Len  groaned.  He  did  more  than  that:  he  whim 
pered.  It  was,  indeed,  unfortunate  that  he  should,  so 
soon  after  arriving  in  the  State,  violate  one  of  its  crimi 
nal  laws.  Every  word  Dockery  uttered  drove  a  nail  in 
the  coffin  of  hope.  The  editor  frankly  acknowledged 
that  he  could  possibly  have  prevented  the  duel,  but 
swore  that  he  could  not  bear  to  see  a  friend — the  grand 
son  of  a  man  whom  he  revered — grossly  insulted. 

Old  man  Gansett  was  standing  at  the  gate  when  they 
arrived. 


26  LEN  GANSETT. 

"W'y,  you've  got  through  with  your  work  mighty 
soon/'  said  he.  "I  'lowed  "it  would  take  you  putty  nigh 
all  day.  Glad  it  didn't,  though.  Wife  she's  out  visitin'. 
Come  in  and  rest  your  bones.  Len,  you  ain't  lookin' 
peart.  Anything  ailin'  you?" 

Len,  averting  his  face,  replied  that  he  wasn't  feeling 
very  well.  The  old  man  was  sorry  to  hear  it.  He  had 
hoped  that  his  grandson  would  enjoy  the  best  of  health. 

"None  o'  the  niggers  air  about,"  Mr.  Gansett  re 
marked  as  he  opened  the  door,  "an'  we'll  have  a  time  all 
to  ourselves.  Take  seats." 

Len  grew  more  and  more  nevous.  "Murder,  murder, 
murder!"  rang  in  his  ears. 

"Well,  if  that  boy  ain't  a  sweatin'  jes  like  it  was  July," 
said  the  old  man.  "Ah,  Lord,  boy,  if  you  sweat  this 
sort  o'  weather  I  don't  know  what'll  become  o'  you 
when  we  turn  the  moul'  board  to  the  co'n.  Dockery, 
have  you.  seen  Mort  Haney  to-day?" 

Len  started.  The  old  man  continued:  "His  wife 
was  over  here  a  while  ago,  ridin'  the  nag  that  Mort  got 
from  Josh  Meyers.  She'd  been  visitin'  summers.  The 
beatenest  woman  to  gad  about  I  ever  seen.  She  said 
that  Mort  was  to  come  after  her,  an'  she  didn't  know 
what  had  become  o'  him." 

Dockery  replied  evasively,  and  made  a  feeble  effort 
to  change  the  subject,  but  the  old  man,  paying  no 
attention  to  his  guest's  evident  desire  to  introduce  a 
new  topic,  continued:  "It's  mighty  sildom  that  any 
body  hears  me  talk  about  my  neighbors;  but  I  want  to 
say  this  about  Mort;  there's  some  mighty  good  p'ints 
about  him,  an'  then  ag'in  there's  some  not  so  good. 


LEN  QANSETT.  27 

When  he  gits  a  little  licker  in  him  he's  as  uppish  as  a 
hen  a-settin'.  I  have  thought  it  many  a  time,  an'  now 
I'm  goin'  to  say  it.  If  he  don't  mind,  some  feller  that 
ain't  got  no  mo'  sense'n  he  has  '11  shoot  his  head  offen 
his  shoulders.  Don't  you  boys  feel  like  eatin'  a  snack? 
There's  plenty  o'  col'  viddults  in  the  kitchen.  I'll  go 
an'  put  it  on  the  table." 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  the  editor  expostulated,  "We  ate 
something  just  before  leaving  the  berg.  We  really 
haven't  time  to  eat,  Mr.  Gansett.  The  fact  is,  Len  and 
I  have  a  little  riding  to  do  and  we'd  like  to  borrow  a 
couple  of  horses." 

"Well,  you  air  welcome  to  'em,  but  you'll  have  to 
wait  a  while.  I  sent  a  wagon-load  o'  corn  an'  wheat  to 
the  mill  this  mornin',  an'  as  I  told  the  boy  not  to  wait 
if  the  mill  was  crowded,  he'll  be  along  back  now  putty 
soon.  Better  let  me  fix  you  somethin'  to  eat.  Len,  ain't 
you  hongry?" 

"No,  sir,  I  couldn't  eat  a  bit.    I— I—" 

"Just  my  fix,  Len,"  said  the  editor,  coming  forward 
with  a  well-timed  remark,  to  cover  the  break  in  Len's 
protest. 

"Well,  if  you  can't  eat,  you  can't,  that's  all.  Jest 
excuse  me  for  a  minit,  then,  fur  I  do  want  to  eat  a 
snack." 

"Len,"  said  Dockery,  when  the  old  man  had  left  the 
room,  "we'd  better  pull  out  from  here  without  waiting 
for  the  horses.  The  first  thing  we  know  a  constable 
will  be  down  on  us.  You'd  better  go  and  crowd  your 
duds  into  a  gripsack." 

"Are  you  going  back  after  your  clothes?"  Len  asked. 


28  LEN  GANSETT, 

The  editor,  sadly  smiling,  replied,  "I  brought  mine 
with  me.  I  always  go  accompanied  by  my  wardrobe.  I 
reckon,  however,  we'd  better  wait  till  the  horses  come. 
My  goodness,  boy,  don't  look  that  way!  Change  your 
face  by  the  time  the  old  man  comes  back,  or  he'll  know 
that  something  has  happened." 

Len  had  arisen,  and  was  standing  with  his  back  turned 
to  the  fire.  His  face  was  pale,  and  into  his  eyes,  whose 
wont  was  liveliness  of  expression,  there  had  crept  a 
vacant  stare.  When  the  old  man  returned  to  the  room 
Len  sat  down,  but  took  care  not  to  expose  his  face  to 
Bob  Gansett's  investigation. 

"It's  mighty  nigh  time  them  horses  was  comin'/'  the 
old  man  observed  as  he  peered  through  a  window. 
"That  nigger's  had  plenty  o'  time  to — who's  that  comin' 
in  at  the  big  gate?" 

Len  started  from  his  chair.  "Set  down,"  said  Mr. 
Gansett;  "it  ain't  the  horses." 

Len  obeyed,  and  the  editor,  on  whose  face  anxiety 
lurked  like  November  shadows,  and  who  had  also  arisen, 
sat  down  with  a  sigh  of  awful  resignation.  The  old 
man  opened  the  door,  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hands, 
and  said: — 

"Yander  comes  the  gang.  I'd  know  it  a  mile  off. 
There's  Asa  More,  Andy  Tillotson,  and  Rufe  Malone. 
Wonder  why  Mort  Haney  ain't  with  'em?  I  reckon  he's 
gone  down  after  his  wife,  not  knowin'  that  she's  gone 
home.  Halloa,  gentle  men,  come  in!" 

Len  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  Dockery,  with  more  pres 
ence  of  mind  and  with  more  of  a  determination  to  meet 
any  crisis,  forced  him  back  into  his  chair.  "Be  quiet," 


LEN  GANSETT.  29 

he  whispered.  "They  have  merely  come  to  tell  the  olci 
man  what  has  happened,  and  they  won't  say  anything 
as  long  as  we  are  here.  They  are  pretty  good  fellows, 
and  will  give  us  a  chance  to  get  away." 

When  the  men  entered  the  room  with  a  decorum 
which  made  Len  shudder,  and  which  called  forth  an 
expression  of  surprise  from  old  man  Gansett,  the  editor 
attempted  to  smile,  hut  the  result  was  so  barren  that 
Len's  heart  sank,  if  possible,  deeper  than  ever.  The 
visitors  sat  down,  and  each  one,  unable  to  conceal  the 
depression  which  he  felt,  gazed  into  the  fire. 

Bob  Gansett:  "Boys,  you  don't  seem  in  yo'  usual 
sperets  to-day." 

Asa  More  (shifting  uneasily  in  his  chair):  "I  ain't 
hearn  no  complaint." 

Andy  Tillotson  (clasping  his  hands  back  of  his  head 
and  stretching  out  his  legs):  "I  don't  know  how  it  is 
with  the  rest,  but  I  ain't  feelin'  so  powerful  brash." 

Bob  Gansett:  "I  don't  know  how  you  feel,  but  you 
look  like  you'd  jes'  come  from  a  fun'al.  Didn't  see 
nothin'  o'  Mrs.  Haney  a-ridin'  o'  the  bay  nag,  I  reckon?" 

Malone:  "I  ain't  seed  her  in  some  time,  an'  mor'n 
that,  I  don't  want  ter  see  her  soon." 

More:  "Kufe,  ain't  yer  got  no  sense?  Kain't  yer 
keep  yer  mouth  shet?" 

Malone  (frowning):  "I've  got  a  right  ter  talk,  1 
reckon." 

Tillotson:    "Yas,  when  yer  talk  right." 

Bob  Gansett:  "Come,  now  gentlemm,  what  is  the 
matter?  You  talk  like  everything  had  gone  to  rack  an' 
ruin.  Where'd  you  leave  Haney?"  I'll  bet  you  was 


30  LEN  GANSETT. 

all  carousin'  together  when  he  should  uv'  been  goin* 
after  his  wife.  Set  down,  Len,  an'  you,  too,  Dock- 
ery.  Dog  it,  the  old  Mck  'pears  to  have  tuck  possession 
o'  you  all.  I  was  jus'  sayin'  a  while  ago  that  Haney 
would  ketch  it  one  o'  these  days.  I  reckon  you  all  recall 
the  day  at  Brannon's  log-rollin';  you  recolleck,  don't 
you,  Asa?" 

More:  "The  time  when  he  punched  Alf  Settle  with 
a  han'pike  an'  then  'lowed  he'd  shoot  him?  Oh,  yas,  I 
recolleck  it;  an'  if  Settle  hadn't  er  lacked  sand  Haney 
would  'a'  got  it  that  day." 

Bob  Gansett:  "He  couldn't  chunk  everybody  round 
that  way.  He'll  meet  his  match  yit.  Boys  (addressing 
Len  and  Dockery),  I'll  swear  I  don't  know  what  makes 
that  nigger  keep  the  horses  away  so  long." 

Malone,  More,  and  Tillotson  exchanged  significant 
looks.  The  old  man  continued:  "Len  an'  the  editor 
'low  that  they  want  to  take  a  short  ride." 

More  (in  an  undertone,  but  not  so  low  that  it  escaped 
Len's  ears):  "A  long  ride,  I  reckon." 

"What  did  you  say?"  Bob  Gansett  asked,  putting  one 
hand  behind  his  ear  and  holding  his  head  to  one  side. 

More:  "I  said  that  it  was  pleasant  weather  for  a 
long  ride.  I'd  ruther  ride  now  than  any  other  time  uv 
the  year.  How  is  it  with  yerse'f,  young  man?" 

Len  (nervously):    "I  don't  know." 

More:    "Never  rid  much,  I  reckon." 

Malone:     "It's  putty  nigh  time  he  was  1'arnin'." 

Bob  Gansett:  "Oh,  he  can  ride,  I  reckon.  He — Till 
otson,  you  are  the  nearest,  wush  you'd  see  who's  that 
at  the  door." 


LEN  OANSETT.  31 

Tillotson  opened  the  door.  Mort  Haney  stepped  into 
the  roo'm: 

"Great  God!"  Len  exclaimed,  springing  to  his  feet. 

Then  there  arose  a  mighty  roar  of  laughter.  Old  man 
Gansett  took  hold  of  the  mantelpiece  and  laughed  until 
the  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes.  For  a  time  Len  was 
speechless;  but  when  he  saw  Dockery  jerking  like  a 
sainted  negro  in  a  trance,  it  dawned  upon  him  that  he 
was  the  victim  of  a  joke. 

"All  right,  gentlemen/'  said  Len;  "you  may  laugh  as 
much  as  you  are  a  mind  to,  but  rest  assured  that  I  am 
the  happiest  one  of  the  party.  Mr.  Haney/'  he  added, 
shaking  hands  with  the  man  who  would  "ketch  it  one  o' 
these  days,"  "I  am  delighted  to  see  you  enjoying  such 
excellent  health." 

"No  gladder'n  I  am,"  Haney  rejoined.  "A  fighter — 
w'y,  young  feller,  I  never  fit  nothin'  in  my  life — never 
hurt  nobody,  er  haw,  haw,  haw!" 

Every  one  laughed.  Old  Bob  wiped  his  eyes  and  said, 
"Ah,  Lenqubees,  I  thought  I  heard  a  chicken  squawl. 
My  son,  don't  try  to  tamper  with  your  grand-daddy. 
W'y,  I've  forgot  mo'  tricks  then  you  ever  knowed.  I  had 
to  work  this  one  mighty  sly,  for  I  was  afeerd  Sarah 
would  find  it  out.  Now,  boys,"  the  old  man  added,  "I've 
got  a  leetle  o'  the  best  ole  co'n  in  the  country,  made 
way  up  in  Tennysy,  where  the  hillsides  air  so  steep  that 
they  lean  back.  I'll  fetch  it  out,  fur  on  sich  an  occasion 
we  ken  afford  to  dampen  our  whissuls." 

The  old  man,  still  laughing,  left  the  room,  and  the 
men  threw  out  their  quids  of  tobacco.  The  old  man 
returned  with  a  jug  and  several  glasses.  "There  ain't 


32  LEN  GANSETT. 

no  harm  in  a  little  o'  this,"  said  he.  "I've  heen  hittin' 
it  moderate  along  all  my  life,  an'  nobody  ken  say  that  I 
was  ever  drunk.  He'p  yourselves.  Dockery,  teteh  it 
light,  fur  you  know  yo'  failin'." 

"He  never  fails  to  tech  it,"  Ilaney  remarked  as  he 
poured  out  a  drink.  Dockery  took  the  jug,  poured  out 
a  glass  nearly  full,  and,  when  he  had  swallowed  the 
liquor,  said: — 

"Ah,  this  beats  a  blind  tiger." 

Len  declined  to  drink,  and  the  old  man,  though 
pleased,  remarked:  "You'd  better  take  a  little  for 
sociability's  sake.  You  needn't  be  afeerd  o'  it,  fur  no 
Gansett  was  ever  a  drunkard." 

"Especially  those  who  never  drank,  anything." 

"You  are  right,  my  boy;  you  are  right,"  said  old  Bob, 
as  he  colored  the  bottom  of  his  glass  with  a  small  drink. 

"Believe  I'll  join  you,  my  old  friend,"  the  editor 
announced,  as  he  advanced  again  and  took  up  the  jug. 

Haney:  "When  Dockery  drinks  it's  like  pourin' 
whiskey  in  a  rat-hole." 

More:  "Not  exzackly,  fur  a  rat-hole  never  gits 
shaky." 

Dockery:  "Gentlemen,  you  may  talk  as  much  as  you 
please,  but  you  bet  I  know  what's  good." 

Tillotson  (who  had  taken  a  "stiff  snort"):  "Tears 
putty  much  thater  way." 

Dockery:  "You  needn't  talk.  Nobody  can  lay  over 
you." 

Tillotson  (with  a  quoatation  from  the  southwestern 
classics):  "No,  not  if  the  cou't  knows  herse'f,  an'  she 
thinks  she  do." 


LEN  GANSETT.  33 

The  conversation  borrowed  vivacity  from  the  jug. 
Len  felt  no  resentment,  but  with  a  thankful  heart  mused 
over  his  recent  trouble.  To  him  it  was  not  only  a  joke, 
but  a  lesson;  and,  as  the  best  lessons  are  the  severest, 
he  cast  thankful  glances  upon  his  grandfather,  per 
ceiving  which,  the  old  man  perceptibly  warmed  toward 
his  grandson.  By  this  time  the  editor  and  proprietor 
of  the  "Picket"  was  "putty  full,"  and  Mr.  Tillotson,  to 
say  nothing  of  Haney,  More,  and  Malone,  was  in  that 
state  which  enables  a  man  to  see  two  objects  when  he 
should  see  but  one. 

Tillotson:  "Dockery,  how's  the  circulation  of  your 
paper?" 

Dockery:  "Circulation — why,  blamed  if  I  don't  lead 
the  band.  I  begun  a  serial  story — wrote  it  myself — some 
time  ago,  and  the  circulation  has  doubled  since  then." 

More:  "How  many — 'scuse  me  (he  had  spit  on  Til- 
lotson's  foot), — how  many  papers  do  yer  throw  out  at  a 
clatter?" 

Dockery:  "Oh,  I  don't  know  how  many.  Fifteen 
quires." 

More:    "That  ain't  mor'n  two  thousan',  is  it?" 

Dockery:  "It  ain't?  You'd  better  go  to  school  an' 
learn  what  a  printer's  quire  is.  Everybody  in  the 
county  except  you  fellows  take  my  paper.  Two  thou 
sand,  the — buck — devil!" 

"Gentlemen,"  said  old  man  Gansett,  "I  don't  want 
to  hurry  you  off;  but  Sarah'll  be  home  putty  soon,  an' 
I  wouldn't  have  her  see  you  all  in  this  fix  fur  nothin' 
in  the  world." 

Tillotson:     "Eight,  old  man,  right.     Wouldn't  want 


34  LEN  GANSETT. 

her  to  see  us.  Ain't  drunk,  yer  know,  but  don't  want 
her  ter  see  us.  Come,  fellers,  let's  move." 

Haney,  in  taking  leave,  put  his  arm  around  Len  and 
said:  "Don't  think  I'd  kill  yer,  do  yer?  Wuz  ter  see  a 
man  tryin'  t'  kill  yer,  shoot's  head  off.  Oh,  I  am  thar 
when  it  comes  ter  a  row.  Come  on,  fellers!  Ole  man, 
much  ableeged  fur  kin'ness,  an'  will  try  an'  merit  return 
uv  the  same.  Good-by,  all  han's." 

"There  ain't  no  harm  in  'em,"  said  the  old  man,  when 
his  noisy  friends  were  gone,  "but  they  lack  backbone. 
Len,  you  didn't  get  mad,  did  you?" 

"No,  sir.  I  am  so  full  of  thankfulness  that  it  was  all 
a  joke  that  there  is  not,  in  my  soul,  any  room  for  resent 
ment." 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  35 


IV. 

THE  old  man  and  Len  were  still  talking  of  the  joke 
when  Mrs.  Gansett  returned. 

"Air  you  still  a  pesterin'  that  child?"  she  asked,  as  she 
took  off  her  sun-bonnet,  rolled  it  up  and  placed  it  on  a 
small  shelf  over  the  door.  "I  declare,  pap,  it  is  a  sin  an' 
a  shame  for  as  old  a  man  as  you  air  to  carry  on  this  way," 
she  added  as  she  sat  down.  "It  does  'pear  like  you'd 
ruther  pester  a  body  then  to  eat  the  sweetest  pie  that 
was  ever  baked.  It's  joke,  joke,  all  the  time.  You 
never  ken  set  down  an'  talk  like  other  folks." 

"That's  a  fact,  Sarah,"  the  old  man  good-humoredly 
replied.  "I  never  talk  like  other  folks  because  you  won't 
give  me  a  chance;  you  do  mighty  nigh  all  the  talkin' 
yourself.  I  ain't  pesterin'  the  youngster;  that  is,  not 
now.  I  had  to  pay  him  for  makin'  that  chicken  squawl, 
an'  I've  done  it.  Lenqubees,  we'd  better  tell  her,  fur 
if  we  don't,  an'  she  finds  it  out  in  any  other  way,  we'll 
have  to  climb  a  mighty  tall  tree  and  strain  our  eyes 
'fore  we  ken  see  the  tail  eend  o'  it." 

Then  the  old  man,  occasionally  assisted  by  Len,  gave 
an  account  of  the  duel  and  the  social  affair  which  had 
followed. 

Mrs.  Gansett  did  not  listen  patiently,  but,  aside  from 
exclamations  of  disapproval,  she  offered  no  serious  inter 
ruption  until  the  old  man  spoke  of  bringing  out  the 
jug. 

"My  sakes  alive,  pap!"  she  exclaimed;  "did  you  let 
them  good-for-nothin'  men  git  drunk  in  my  house?" 


36  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Well,  they  wa'nt  exactly  sober  when  they  left  here." 
"What  made  you  let  'em  drink  here,  say?" 
"Well,  I  wanted  to  show  Lenqubees  that  they  ain't 
men  o'  backbone.     The  mo'  a  man  knows  about  his 
associates  the  better  it  will  be  for  him  in  the  long  run. 
When  a  man's  sober  he  makes  it  his  business  to  hide  his 
natur';  when  he's  drunk  he  makes  it  his  business  to  show 
his  natur'." 

"That's  all  foolishness,"  Mrs.  Gansett  replied.  "It's 
all  foolishness,  an'  you  know  it.  It's  jest  an  excuse  for 
gettin'  folks  drunk,  an'  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  o' 
yourself." 

"AVhen  did  I  ever  git  anybody  drunk  befo'?" 
"That  don't  make  no  diffunce.  The  principle  o'  one 
time  is  jest  as  bad  as  if  you  wus  to  do  it  a  thousan'  times. 
Len,  your  gran'pap  acks  like  he  never  did  have  to  die." 
"That  ain't  it,  Sarah,"  old  Bob  replied.  "I  ack  like 
I  know  it  'an  that  I  kain't  he'p  it.  When  the  Lord  calls 
on  me  I'll  go,  an'  not  till  then,  an'  I  don't  want  to  ack 
like  I  want  the  Lord  to  hurry  it  up.  Lenqubees  an'  me 
understand  each  other  now,  Sarah,  an'  don't  you  fret 
about  me  pesterin'  him.  How  air  they  all  over  at  Bra- 
ley's?" 

"They  air  as  pore  as  usual,"  Mrs.  Gansett  replied. 
"I  declare  I  don't  understand  that  fam'ly.  Buck  Bra- 
ley  'peers  to  work  hard  anuff, — an'  goodness  knows  he's 
as  strong  as  a  steer, — but  somehow  they  never  have 
nothin'  in  the  house.  The  chillun  air  mighty  nigh 
naked,  an'  winter  a-comin'  on,  too.  I  hearn  while  over 
there  that  old  Ben  Hobdy  is  down  ag'in  with  his  rheu- 
matiz.  He's  a-cussin'  an'  a-swearin',  an'  he  ain't  got  a 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  37 

stick  o'  wood  cut,  nor  a  mou'ful  o'  meat,  nor  a  dust  o' 
meal  in  the  house."  • 

"'Nuff  to  make  him  cuss,"  said  old  Bob. 

"N"o,  it  ain't  nuther.  It's  anuff  to  make  him  pray. 
He's  liable  to  drap  off  at  any  minnit." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Len.  "I  met  his  daughter  several 
days  ago.  She  is  a  beautiful  child." 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Gansett,  "an'  she's  as  kindhearted 
as  she  is  putty.  She  does  all  the  housework  jes'  like  a 
grown  woman,  an'  waits  on  her  daddy  jes'  like  he  was  a 
chile.  The  old  man  never  wuz  much  account,  that  is, 
he  hain't  been  sence  his  wife  died.  It  makes  my  heart 
bleed  to  think  o' Ned.  Pore  chile!  I  took  her  some  lin- 
sey  clothes  t'other  day,  an'  do  you  know  that  she  was  so 
mortal  proud  that  she  at  fust  refused  to  have  'em?  She 
was,  but  I  begged  her  an'  worked  with  her  tell  she  put 
'em  on.  Well,  I  mus'  go  out  an'  see  if  Jane's  got  a  fire 
started.  A  nigger5!!  funter  round  all  day  an'  then  not 
git  nothin'  done.  I'd  ruther  do  all  the  work  than  have 
my  life  pestered  out  of  me  about  it.  I'm  goin'  to  put 
this  ole  piece  o'  carpet  at  the  door,  an'  I  want  you  all  to 
wipe  your  feet  when  you  come  in.  Pap  would  keep  a 
body  busy  sweepin'  out  the  mud  he  lugs  in.  I  had  this 
floor  scoured  yistidy,  an'  now  look  at  it!  Looks  like  a 
passul  o'  hogs  had  been  penned  up  in  here.  I'm  goin' 
to  tell  that  editor  to  stay  'way  from  my  house  if  he 
kain't  keep  from  gittin'  drunk.  His  old  paper  ain't 
much  account  nohow.  Len,  fetch  in  that  big  stick  o' 
wood  out  there.  I  don't  want  yo'  gran'pa  to  lift  it. 
Pap,  now  don't  you  be  in  a  swivit,  fur  we'll  have  some- 
thin'  to  eat  putty  soon." 


38  LEN  GANSETT. 


V. 

BETWEEN  Dogwood  and  Oak  Hill — a  station  on  the 
St.  Louis,  Iron  Mountain,  &  Southern  railway — a  stage 
coach  line  was  in  operation, — the  line  over  which  Len 
had  come.  The  owner  of  the  line,  Colonel  John  Bently, 
lived  about  two  miles  distant  from  the  Gansett  farm. 
Colonel  Bently,  a  few  years  before  Len  Gansett  took  up 
his  residence  in  the  Abbott's  Ford  neighborhood,  had 
come  from  the  East.  He  bought  a  farm,  and  shortly 
afterward  established  the  stage  line.  His  house,  upon 
which  some  little  architectural  effort  had  been  expended, 
was,  with  its  grounds  of  well-cultivated  shrubs  and  care 
fully  kept  trees,  an  inviting  place.  The  outhouses  were 
neatly  painted  white.  Guinea  chickens  cried  "Pot-rack, 
pot-rack"  in  the  yard,  and  the  turkey-hen,  with  her 
long,  graceful  neck  and  bearing  of  meekness,  reached 
up  and  picked  the  blueberries  from  the  stubby  cedar 
bushes.  In  the  house  there  were  many  books, — books  of 
adventure  and  books  of  philosophy.  The  colonel  was 
looked  up  to  by  every  one  in  the  neighborhood.  He  was 
foremost  in  every  movement  for  the  welfare  of  the  com 
munity;  he  was  charitable  to  an  admirable  degree,  and 
his  flowing  courtesy  of  manner  and  frankness  of 
countenance  made  even  the  most  humble  and  ignorant 
man  in  the  neighborhood  feel  at  ease  in  his  presence. 
He  had  never  been  married,  and,  with  the  exception  of 
the  servants  that  found  a  home  in  his  house,  lived  alone. 
He  was  apparently  about  fifty  years  old,  and  wore  a 


LEN  GANSETT.  39 

beard  in  which,  one  could  catch  silvery  glimpses  of  com 
ing  age. 

Len  and  the  colonel  soon  became  acquainted.  The 
young  man  felt  proud  of  the  attention  which  the  colonel 
began  at  once  to  show  him.  Never  before  had  he  met  an 
educated  and  wealthy  man  with  whom  he  felt  so  free, 
and  to  whom  it  was  so  easy  to  talk. 

One  afternoon  Colonel  Bently  called  at  Bob  Gansett's 
house,  especially,  he  said,  to  take  Len  home  with  him. 

"You  must  stay  all  night  with  me,"  said  he.  "The  old 
people  can  get  along  very  well  without  you  one  night." 

"I  am  willing  enough  to  go,"  Len  replied. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Gansett,  "for  the  pore  child  don't 
hardly  go  offen  the  place." 

"Grandma,  don't  pity  me,  if  you  please.  You  talk  to 
me  as  though  I  were  a  cripple  or  subject  to  epileptic 
fits." 

The  old  man  laughed.  His  wife  turned  upon  him 
and  said: — 

"Now,  pap,  what  are  you  a-winkin'  an'  a-blinkin' 
about?  Kain't  a  body  speak?" 

"It  pears  mighty  like  a  body  ken,"  the  old  man 
replied.  "By  the  way,  Lenqubees,"  he  added,  "before 
you  come  home  tomorrer  I  want  you  to  go  round  an' 
tell  the  neighbors  to  come  over  Thursday  mornin'  an' 
he'p  me  roll  logs.  The  dead  trees  in  the  lower  fiel'  air 
fallin'  with  every  win'.  I'm  goin'  to  set  the  niggers  to 
choppin'  'em  in  lengths  right  off." 

"You  have  never  seen  a  genuine  log-rolling,  I  dare 
say,"  said  the  colonel,  addressing  Len. 

"No,  sir." 


40  LEN  &ANSETT. 

'Then  you  should  attend." 

"If  you  should  happen  to  come  along  at  the  right 
time/'  said  Bob  Gansett,  turning  to  Colonel  Bently, 
"you'll  find  him  there  huddled  up  at  the  end  o'  a 
han'spike,  buckin'  ag'in  Mort  Haney  or  some  o'  the 
other  fellers.  Oh,  I'm  goin'  tol'arn  him  somethin' — 
goin'  to  finish  his  edycation." 

Len  replied  that  he  was  willing  to  learn,  and  the 
colonel  remarked  that  if  he  could  recall  a  few  years  he 
could  hold  his  own  with  the  best  of  them.  "Len,"  the 
colonel  added,  "if  you  are  ready,  we'll  proceed.  Mrs. 
Gansett,  although  I  am  not  invited  to  the  log-rolling, 
yet  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  being  present  at  dinner." 

"Do,  Colonel  Bently;  do,  if  you  please,"  Mrs  Gansett 
replied.  "We  kain't  promise  you  nothin'  as  good  as 
you'd  git  at  home,  but  we'll  give  you  the  best  we've  got." 

"Now,  Len,"  said  the  colonel,  when  he  had  shown  his 
visitor  into  his  library,  "you  must  feel  perfectly  at  home. 
In  my  house  there  are  no  arbitrary  rules  to  be  observed. 
If  you  are  hungry  between  meals  go  to  the  dining-room 
and  get  something  to  eat.  When  I  was  a  boy  I  was  made 
so  uncomfortable  by  formalities  while  visiting  that  I 
even  then  resolved  that  if  I  ever  owned  a  house  I  would 
see  that  no  uncongenial  air  came  in  at  its  windows;  that 
no  cramps  and  twinges  of  restraint  should  lurk  about  its 
hearthstone.  You  may  sit  in  that  rocking-chair,  just 
as  you  are;  you  may  lie  down  on  a  sofa,  just  as  I  am 
going  to  do,  or  you  may  walk  about  the  premises.  You 
may  make  free  use  of  whatever  you  see,  may  go  to  bed 
when  you  feel  disposed,  and  get  up  when  you  choose." 

"Colonel,"  Len  replied,  casting  a  look  of  admiration 


LEN  GANSETT.  41 

upon  the  hospitable  man,  "there  seems  to  be  no  limit 
to  the  liberties  which  you  grant." 

"You  should  not  regard  such  slight  courtesies  as 
liberties,  but  must  bear  in  mind  that  the  pleasure  of 
your  society  outweighs,  in  my  estimation,  anything  that 
I  may  do  to  make  you.  feel  comfortable.  There  are  some 
pretty  fair  cigars  on  the  mantelpiece.  Help  yourself, 
and  hand  me  one.  Thank  you,"  he  added,  when  Len 
had  handed  him  a  cigar.  "I  have  a  match,  thank  you." 

As  he  reclined  on  a  sofa,  with  one  arm  under  his  head 
and  his  eyes  half  closed,  Len  closely  studied  his  face. 
"He  is  the  most  perfect  type  of  the  American 'gentle 
man/'  young  Gansett  mused.  The  colonel  looked  up, 
and  Len,  somewhat  confused  at  being  detected  in  his 
close  scrutiny  of  Bently's  face,  said: — 

"You  have  interrupted  me  in  an  agreeable  con 
templation,  colonel:  I  was  studying  your  features." 

"Then  excuse  my  untimely  interference,"  the  colonel 
replied,  with  a  smile.  "You  must  also  understand  that 
even  my  features  are  at  your  service." 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Len,  "how  a  man  of  your 
experience  and  reading  can  find  my  society  at  all  inter 
esting." 

"An  absurd  thought,"  the  colonel  laughingly  replied. 
"Why,  don't  you  know  that  the  old  horse  frequently 
takes  great  delight  in  playing  with  the  colt?  In  associat 
ing  with  the  young  the  old  often  catch  the  spirit  of 
youth.  The  young  man  helps  the  old  man  to  think  of 
pleasant  things.  An  old  tree  is  grander  when  a  sapling 
grows  beside  it.  Do  you  like  books.  Len?" 

"I  am  passionately  fond  of  books,  but  I  fear  that  my 


42  LEN  GANSETT. 

taste  is  not  very  good.  I  prefer  novels  to  the  exclusion 
of  more  healthful,  and  by  far  more  instructive,  works." 

"You  must  educate  yourself  out  of  that;  hut  after  all, 
the  right  sort  of  a  novel  is  not  unhealthful.  I  hold  that 
the  novel-reader  is  never  wholly  a  bad  man,  for  to  be  a 
lover  of  novels  he  must  enter  into  the  soul  of  the  work. 
He  must  sympathize  with  the  afflicted  and  rejoice  with 
the  happy  character.  Some  of  the  world's  greatest 
writers  have  been  lovers  of  novels.  Macaulay  not  only 
read  every  good  novel  which  the  English  language 
afforded,  but  read  novels  in  other  languages;  and  to  this 
thirst  for  bright  literature  must  be  attributed  his  powers 
of  brilliant  description.  So,  my  friend,  don't  regret  that 
you  have  a  passion  for  novels,  but  regret,  rather,  that  you 
have  not  also  cultivated  a  taste  for  more  solid  reading. 
Come  in." 

A  negro  boy  entered  the  room.  "Well,  Tom,  what  is 
it?" 

"Mr.  Honeycut  is  out  on  de  po'ch,  sah." 

"Tell  him  to  come  in." 

Mr.  Honeycut  came  in  and  was  introduced  to  Len. 
Mr.  Honeycut's  hair  was  cut  square  off,  with  a  pre 
cision  that  would  lead  one  to  believe  that  Mr.  Honeycut 
regarded  such  a  truncated  fashion  as  a  style  which  he 
was  compelled  to  observe.  His  eyes  were  small,  with 
just  enough  room  between  them  for  the  upper  part  of  a 
very  narrow  nose.  He  had  a  tusk  that  lifted  his  upper 
lip  into  a  perpetual  snarl,  and  his  neck,  covered  with 
red  blotches,  looked  as  though  it  might  have  once  been 
hung  up  with  bacon  in  a  smoke-house.  He  had  not 
taken  the  precaution  to  wipe  his  feet,  and  when  he 


LEN  GANSETT.  43 

stamped  upon  the  hearth,  which  he  did  upon  entering 
he  scattered  fragments  of  mud.  He  lived  on  Bently's 
farm,  and  made  a  pretence  of  cultivating  a  tract  of  land. 

"Wall,  colonel,"  said  Mr.  Honeycut,  "how's  the  worP 
usin'  yer?" 

"Oh,  I  can't  complain,"  the  colonel  replied. 

"I  didn't  know  that  yer  had  hearn  uv  it?" 

"Of  what?" 

"The  stage  robbery." 

The  colonel  sprang  up  from  the  sofa  and  exclaimed: 
"Confound  it,  man,  speak  out!" 

"Wall,  I  don't  know  much  ter  speak,  but  I'll  tell  yer 
all  I  know.  I  was  over  at  Dogwood  about  dinner-time, 
an'  hearn  that  the  stage  had  been  robbed.  The  driver 
said  that  a  putty  good  size  sum  o'  money  that  wuz  sent 
sent  down  from  St.  Louis  fur  Masklin  &  Bros.,  the  cot 
ton  buyers,  had  been  tuck.  The  gear  wuz  cut  so  bad 
that  it  wuz  with  differkilty  that  the  stage  could  be  drug 
in.  Martin,  the  driver,  said  that  he  would  be  over  putty 
soon  an'  tell  yer  all  about  it.  One  feller  hit  Martin 
over  the  head  an'  bruised  him  a  right  smart." 

Len  could  not  help  but  pity  Bently.  His  face,  a  few 
moments  ago  so  serene,  was  now  streaked  with  lines  of 
anxiety.  The  stage-driver  soon  made  his  appearance. 

"I  kain't  hardly  tell  how  it  come  about,"  said  he.  "I 
was  kept  at  Oak  Hill,  waitin'  for  a  train,  and  it  was 
mighty  nigh  midnight  'fore  I  left.  Thar  was  only  three 
passengers,  an'  they  give  up  all  they  had  without  makin' 
a  show  uv  fight.  We  was  all  tuck  by  s'prize  an' — wall, 
I  was  hit  over  the  head." 

"Martin,"  said  the  colonel,  "this  is  the  third  time 


44  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

within  the  past  year  that  you  have  allowed  your  stage  to 
be  robbed.  It  does  seem  to  me  that  you  should  make  an 
effort—" 

"How  could  I,  colonel,  when  I  wus  hit  over  the 
head?" 

"Let  me  see  where  you  were  struck/'  said  Bently.  The 
stage-driver  removed  a  bandage  from  his  head  and  the 
colonel  examined  the  wound.  "It  wasn't  much  of  a 
blow,  Martin,"  the  colonel  remarked;  "it  wouldn't  have 
cracked  a  peanut." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  would,  sir.  It  would  have  cracked — 
cracked — two  uv  them." 

"Martin,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  don't  think  that  I  can 
trust  you  any  longer.  You  are  too  easily  robbed,  and, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  know  but  you  are  perfectly 
willing — " 

"Great  heavens,  colonel,  don't  say  that!  I've  got  a 
wife  an'  chillun  ter  suppo't,  an'  ef  what  you've  gist  said 
wus  ter  git  out  I  would  be  ruined.  I  dunno  but  I'm 
ruined  anyway,"  he  added  with  a  whine.  "I've  driv'  a 
stage  so  long  that  I  don't  know  how  to  do  nothin'  else. 
Wife'll  be  mightily  bothered  'cause  you've  turned  me  off. 
Don't  know—" 

"Well,  well,"  the  colonel  interposed,  "go  ahead.  No, 
never  mind  wringing  my  hand.  Mark  you,  now,  that 
I  want  you  to  take  better  care  of  my  interests." 

The  driver,  after  many  expressions  of  gratitude  took 
his  leave. 

"I'd  like  to  see  a  set  uv  fellers  rob  a  stage  that  I  had 
anything  to  do  with,"  Mr.  Honeycut  remarked.  "I  ain't 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  45 

much,  on  the  fight,  but  nobody  never  took  nothin'  away 
from  me  yit/' 

"It  is  easier  to  talk  than  to  act/'  the  colonel  replied. 

"Yas,  that's  so;  but  I  wouldn't  mine  takin'  holt  uv 
sich  a  job.  Kain't  give  me  a  set,  ken  yer?" 

"Not  at  present,  Mr.  Honeycut." 

"I  didn't  know.    Wall,  I'll  leave  yer." 

When  Mr.  Honeycut  was  gone,  the  colonel,  with  an 
air  of  perplexity,  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  A 
negro  boy  appeared  and  announced  that  supper  was 
ready,  but  Bently  heeded  him  not.  Darkness  came  on, 
but  the  colonel  still  continued  his  meditative  walk.  At 
length  he  said: — 

"Gansett,  you  must  excuse  my  abstraction.  You 
doubtless  appreciate  my  position.  Come,  let  us  go  to 
supper/' 


46  LEN  GANSETT. 


VI. 

THERE  was  scarcely  a  word  uttered  during  the  meal. 
Occasionally  the  colonel,  giving  himself  up  to  thoughts 
which  "ciphered  sums"  of  perplexity  on  his  brow,  would 
lean  back  and  fixedly  gaze  into  the  featureless  face  of 
vacancy.  When  Bently  and  Len  had  returned  to  the 
library  the  colonel  said: — 

"Gansett,  were  you  ever  in  trouble?" 

"Oh,  I  have  been  in  situations  which  I  don't  suppose 
any  one  would  envy;  but  I  kon't  know  that,  aside  from 
the  sorrow  incident  upon  the  death  of  some  one  who  was 
dear  to  me,  that  I  have  seen  real  trouble.  I  can  say  this: 
none  of  my  stages  have  ever  been  robbed." 

The  colonel  smiled.  The  "sums"  of  perplexity  were 
wiped  from  his  brow.  "I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  "but 
that  you  are  fortunate  in  not  owning  a  stage  line.  The 
school-teacher,  the  congressman  whose  home  is  in  a 
country  town,  and  the  owner  of  a  stage  line  are  not  to  be 
envied." 

"The  owner  of  the  stage  line  has  one  advantage," 
said  Len.  "He  can  sell  out." 

"Oh,"  the  colonel  replied,  with  a  shrug,  "he  has  no 
advantage  over  the  congressman,  for  the  congressman 
can  sell  out." 

"Yes,  but  the  school-teacher  can't.  This  makes  his 
position  the  most  unenviable  of  the  three." 

"You  are  right,  Gansett.  There  is  nothing  in  store 
for  the  country  school-teacher.  Yet  the  President's 


LEN  OANSETT.  47 

place  is  not  more  important.  Heigho!  I  hardly  know 
what  to  do.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  catch  those  rob 
bers.  I  can't  do  it  alone,  and  the  officers  are  not  very 
active.  I'll  have  to  offer  a  reward.  This  will  stir  up  the 
guardian  angels  of  justice.  There  is  in  Missouri  a  band 
of  train  robbers,  and  I  am  inclined  to  the  belief  that 
they  have  opened  a  branch  office  in  this  neighborhood." 

"And,"  Len  suggested,  "they  seem  to  be  doing  a 
pretty  fair  business." 

"Yes,  but  on  borrowed  capital.  ."Well,  there  is  no  use 
in  worrying  over  it.  Gansett,  I  have  learned  a  great 
deal  from  your  grandfather.  He  is  a  philosopher,  if 
there  ever  was  one.  If  that  man  were  to  lose  one  arm, 
he  would  congratulate  himself  that  the  other  one  had 
been  spared.  I  have  never  met  a  man  the  contemplation 
of  whose  character  afforded  me  more  pleasure  and  pro 
fit.  His  strong  nature  is  set  off  by  the  gem  of  generous 
forgiveness.  There  are  others  who  would  make  life  a 
frown;  he  would  make  it  a  smile." 

"Why,"  said  Len,  "you  are  trying  to  make  a  poem  of 
the  dear  old  man." 

"He  is  a  poem,  Gansett;  hexameter,  for  you  know  he 
is  six  feet." 

The  evening  wore  pleasantly  away.  The  clock  struck 
eleven.  A  stick  of  wood  in  the  fireplace  broke  in  two, 
and  a  cat  jumped  up  with  a  sneeze  of  alarm. 

"Gansett,  your  room  is  just  across  the  hall.  It  is 
ready  for  you  at  any  time;  you  may  sit  up  all  night,  or 
go  to  bed,  just  as  you  like." 

"Well,  since  it  is  left  to  me,  I'll  go  to  bed.  Good 
night,"  he  added,  arising. 


48  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Good-night." 

Len  arose  early  next  morning,  and  had  gone  out  into 
the  yard,  when  the  colonel  joined  him  and  said,  "Gan- 
sett,  the  dogs  treed  something  over  on  the  hill  just  be 
fore  daylight.  Don't  you  hear  them?  Let  us  go  over, 
and  if  it  is  a  'coon  we'll  chop  the  tree  down,  hold  off  the 
large  dogs  and  have  a  fight.  Here,  Rogers,"  calling  a 
negro,  "get  an  axe  and  bring  it  along.  Did  you  ever  see 
a  'coon  fight,  Len?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Then  you  have  been  cheated  out  of  rare  sport.  Come, 
let  us  hurry." 

They  found  the  dogs  "barking  up"  a  large  oak  tree. 

"Git  'im  down,  ole  boys;  git  'im  down!"  exclaimed 
the  negro,  as  he  stuck  his  axe  into  the  tree.  "It's  eider 
er  little  'possum  ur  er  'coon." 

"Why  a  little  'possum?"  Len  asked. 

"'Gaze  er  big  'possum  ain'  ap'  ter  climb  er  big  tree. 
Git  'im  down,  ole  boys!  Mus'  I  chop  her  down,  cun'l?" 

"Yes,  go  ahead.  Let's  see.  Throw  it  out  there  in 
that  open  place.  Chop  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  when  you 
get  tired  I'll  relieve  you." 

The  colonel  relieved  the  negro  from  time  to  time,  and 
when  the  tree  was  about  ready  to  fall  Bently  took  the 
axe  and  said,  "Rogers,  call  the  dogs  and  hold  them  until 
the  tree  falls.  Gansett,  take  hold  of  that  large  dog. 
Don't  be  afraid  of  him.  He  won't  bite  you.  All  ready? 
Here  we  go!" 

The  colonel  dealt  a  few  more  blows  with  his  axe. 
Screak,  snap,  boom!  The  small  dogs  rushed  into  the 


LEN  GANSETT.  49 

waving  "lap"  of  the  fallen  tree.  The  large  dogs  howled 
and  attempted  to  break  away. 

"Great  Caesar!"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  springing  on 
to  the  stump;  "turn  loose  the  big  dogs!  It's  a  bear!" 
Len  turned  loose  his  dog  and  took  to  his  heels,  but  soon 
regaining  his  presence  of  mind,  and  ashamed  of  his 
fright,  returned. 

"Eogers,"  cried  the  colonel,  "run  to  the  house  and 
bring  my  gun.  He'll  kill  all  the  dogs." 

The  bear  had  been  wounded  by  the  fall,  and  although 
unable  to  defend  himself  with  those  cool  and  summary 
movements  of  destruction  so  well  known  to  canine 
prowlers  of  the  cane-brake,  yet  in  a  very  few  minutes 
he  had  killed  two  of  the  dogs  and  had  taught  the  others 
to  keep  a  healthful,  if  not  a  respectful,  distance. 
Eogers  soon  returned  with  the  gun. 

"Do  you  want  to  kill  him,  Gansett?"  the  colonel 
asked. 

"No,  I  believe  not." 

"What,  wouldn't  you  like  to  say  that  you  had  killed 
a  bear?" 

"Not  a  wounded  one." 

"Well,  he  has  to  die,"  said  the  colonel  as  he  cocked 
the  gun.  "It  is  impracticable,  if  not  impossible,  to  give 
him  liberty,  and  upon  this  hypothesis  he  deserves  death. 
Here  he  goes!" 

The  bear  rolled  over,  and  the  dogs,  knowing  that  all 
danger  was  past,  rushed  upon  the  fallen  monster  and 
then  fought  among  themselves. 

"Eogers,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  forgot  to  tell  you  to 
bring  a  butcher-knife." 


50  LEN  GANSETT. 

"I  fotch  one,  sail." 

"All  right.  You'd  better  stick  the  old  gentleman, 
and  then  get  the  mules  and  drag  him  to  the  house.  It's 
the  first  bear  I  ever  saw  in  this  neighborhood,  Gansett. 
I  suppose  he  came  out  of  the  bottoms  on  a  foraging 
expedition.  Well,  let  us  go  to  breakfast." 

Immediately  after  breakfast  Len  set  out,  as  his  grand 
father  had  requested,  to  summon  the  neighbors  to  the 
log-rolling.  Every  one  was  willing  to  come.  Summon 
ing  a  man  to  a  log-rolling  is  appealing  to  his  honor. 
The  most  shiftless  man  in  the  neighborhood,  the  man 
who  cares  not  to  work  for  himself,  and  the  seat  of  whose 
jean  trousers  are  threadbare,  is  generally  the  best  man 
at  a  log-rolling.  Luxemburg  was  feeble  and  sleepy  in 
a  calm,  but  in  battle  his  eyes  flashed  and  his  bearing 
became  august.  In  every-day  affairs  the  leader  of  a  log 
rolling  is  lazy,  and  his  words  are  uttered  with  a  weak 
and  peevish  accent;  but  when  he  steps  upon  the  ground 
where  the  handspikes  are  in  readiness,  his  aspect  under 
goes  an  ennobling  change:  his  voice  is  clear  and  ringing, 
and,  with  a  mathematical  eye,  he  sees  the  weak  point 
of  every  log.  Braley,  whom  Mrs.  Garsett  had  said  was 
as  "pore"  as  usual,  was  this  sort  of  a  man.  Had  he  not 
been  included  in  the  invitation,  he  would  have  been 
grievously  offended.  In  cold  weather  he  was  nearly 
always  out  of  wood,  and  during  a  sleet  or  snow  storm 
the  near  neighbors  could  hear  the  reluctant  strokes  of 
his  axe  as  he  attacked  saplings  which  grew  within  easy 
reach  of  his  house.  His  boys  wore  clothes  too  large  for 
them,  and  it  seemed  that  his  girls  always  wore  winter 
frocks  in  the  summer  and  summer  frocks  in  the  winter. 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  51 

Braley's  house,  built  of  round  logs,  was  easy  enough 
to  find, — not  because  it  was  built  on  an  eminence,  for 
it  was  not;  but  because,  if  any  one  should  be  near,  the 
whooping  and  yelling  of  the  children  would  attract 
attention  and  serve  as  a  guide  to  the  place.  When  Len 
Dismounted  from  his  horse  and  entered  the  yard  several 
boys  and  girls,  catching  sight  of  him,  uttered  exclama 
tions  not  unlike  the  sounds  made  by  hogs  when  taken 
by  surprise,  and  scampered  away.  Some  of  them 
"broke"  for  the  stable,  and  others,  unable  to  clamber 
over  the  fence,  crawled  under  the  house.  A  gaunt  man 
came  out  of  the  house,  and  Len,  introducing  himself, 
stated  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"Glad  ter  see  yer,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Braley.  "Come  in 
ther  house  an'  rest  yerself." 

Len  accompanied  him  into  a  room  rank  with  the 
smoke  of  strong  tobacco,  and  was  introduced  to  a 
scrawny  woman  with  reddish  hair.  One  corner  of  her 
mouth  was  drawn  down,  having  yielded  to  the  constant 
pressure  of  a  "snuff  stick."  'She  was  a  type  of  the  ner 
vous  and  worn-out  class  of  women  so  often  found  among 
the  poor  people  of  the  South.  To  such  a  woman 
married  life  is  slavery.  She  may  have  once  been  bright 
and  cheerful,  but  a  few  years  of  drudgery  naturally  saps 
the  cheerfulness  from  her  life,  and  leaves,  instead, 
asperity  of  temper  and  whining  complaint. 

Mrs.  Braley  turned  from  the  work  of  baking  corn- 
bread  on  the  hearth,  and  said,  "Set  down  over  thar. 
Take  the  other  cheer,  thatVll  tilt  back  with  yer. 
Buck,"  addressing  her  husband,  "why'n't  yer  drive  that 


52  LEN  GANSETT. 

fetchtaked  dog  out?  Don't  yer  see  lie's  got  his  nose 
inta  ever'thin'?" 

Braley  shoved  the  dog  with  his  foot  and  meekly  sat 
down. 

"Yer  hain't  been  livin'  yere  long/'  said  Mrs.  Braley, 
turning  to  Len.  / 

"No,  only  a  few  weeks/' 

"Wall,  I  don't  see  what  anbody  wants  ter  come  yere 
fur/'  she  replied,  as  she  put  a  shovel  of  fire  on  the  lid 
of  an  oven.  "It's  a  mighty  pore  place  ter  see  any  sort 
uv  en  joy  ment." 

Mr.  Braley  sat  twirling  his  thumbs.  His  wife  con 
tinued:  "It  looks  ter  me  like  the  men  in  this  country 
don't  do  nothin'  but  set  round  from  mornin'  till  night." 

Len,  attempting  to  lead  the  conversation  to  subjects 
more  pleasant,  invited  Mrs.  Braley  to  take  dinner  at  his 
grandfather's  house  on  the  day  of  the  log-rolling.  His 
attempt  was  not  successful. 

"Law  me!"  she  replied,  "I  never  go  offen  the  place, 
an*  so  fur  as  goin'  is  consarned,  I'd  jest  as  well  be  in 
jaiJ,  every  bit'n  grain.  Is  yer  folks  all  well?  That's  a 
blessin'/'  she  added,  when  Len  had  replied  affirmatively. 
"Ole  man  Gansett  is  a  show  fur  ter  see.  A  cricket  ain't 
no  pearter'n  he  is,  an'  nobody  ain't  got  no  better  heart. 
Yer  gran'maw,  like  the  balance  uv  the  women,  is  w'arin* 
out  mighty  fast.  Keep  yer  seat." 

<£No,  I  must  go,  as  I  have  one  or  two  other  places  to 
visit." 

"But  set  right  down.    Dinner5!!  be  ready  in  a  jninit." 

Braley  cast  a  beseeching  look  on  Len,  and  Len,  think 
ing  that  he  understood  his  host,  sat  down.  The  woman 


LEN  GANSETT.  53 

drew  out  a  table  from  against  the  wall  and  placed  corn- 
bread  and  fried  bacon  upon  it. 

"Draw  up  yer  cheers/'  she  said.  The  men  obeyed. 
About  this  time  the  children  began  to  make  their  ap 
pearance.  They  scrambled  with  one  another  on  the 
hearth,  each  one  struggling  for  the  privilege  of  "sop 
ping"  the  skillet. 

Braley  accompanied  Len  to  the  fence.  "Tell  the  old 
man  that  I'll  be  thar  bright  an'  arly/'  said  he. 

"All  right." 

"Say/'  he  called,  as  Len  was  riding  away,  "come  over 
some  time  an'  we'll  go  huntin'.  I'm  the  cap'n  in  that 
line." 

The  day  for  the  log-rolling  came  with  a  glow  of 
glorious  sunlight.  The  air  was  keen,  and  the  dogs 
sniffed  the  frost  on  the  dead  grass  and  scampered  in 
glee.  The  men  came  early.  Mort  Haney,  Andy  Tillot- 
son,  Asa  More,  Eufe  Malone,  and  several  others  were  on 
hand  by  the  time  the  sun  showed  himself,  but  they  were 
all  preceded  by  Buck  Braley.  Len,  after  seeing  Braley, 
had  doubted  the  propriety  of  inviting  him;  but  now  his 
doubt  was  turned  into  surprise.  Braley  walked  with  the 
air  of  a  conqueror,  and  his  voice,  so  weak  a  short  time 
before,  was  vigorous  now.  Old  man  Gansett  brought  out 
his  jug. 

"Good  to  take  the  cobwebs  outen  a  man's  throat," 
said  Mort  Haney  as  he  poured  out  a  liberal  drink. 

"Hurry  up  with  yer  licker,  men,  an'  le's  go,"  shouted 
Braley.  "We're  burnin'  daylight  here.  Come  ahead, 
all  han's!  Ole  man,  better  have  a  bucket  uv  water  sent 
out,  fur  we  don't  want  no  foolishin'  atter  we  git  thar." 


54  ZEN  GANSETT. 

Some  of  the  logs  were  very  large,  and  the  strong  men 
tottered  under  jtheir  weight. 

"Put  down  yer  han'spikes,  men/'  Braley  would  yell. 
"Turn  her  over.  Here  we  go!" 

"Ken  we  walk  with  this'n?"  Asa  More  asked  as  he 
looked  at  a  large  log. 

"Yes,"  Braley  rejoined,  "we  ken  walk  with  anything. 
Slew  her  aroun',  boys.  Put  chips  under  yer  spikes  so 
yer  ken  ketch  holt.  Keady,  all  han's?  Here  we  go!" 

Len  was  lifting  against  Braley.  '  The  young  man's 
knees  smote  each  other,  and  he  was  just  on  the  eve  of 
giving  up,  when  Braley,  resting  his  handspike  on  his 
knee,  reached  over  the  log,  tapped  Len  on  the  shoulder 
and  said: — 

"Keep  yer  eend  up,  young  feller.  Oh,  yer  ken  sleep 
without  rockin'  ter  night."  Len  made  another  effort 
and  was  successful.  "Now,  men,"  shouted  Braley, 
"yerM  better  rest,  while  I  go  over  yander  and'  skirmish 
round  a  little." 

The  suggestion  met  with  silent  approbation.  Endur 
ance  with  the  log-rollers  was  a  matter  of  pride. 

"Who's  that  a-comin'?"  some  one  asked,  as  a  horse 
man  came  within  sight.  "Dinged  if  it  ain't  Parson 
Murray,  the  circuit  rider.  Reckon  he  must've  smelt 
the  pot  a-b'ilin'." 

Mr.  Murry  may  not  have  "smelt  the  pot  a-b'ilin'," 
but  the  chances  are  that  he  had.  He  rode  up  to  the 
fence,  stopped,  spoke  to  the  men,  and  leisurely  threw 
one  leg  over  the  horn  of  his  saddle. 

"Won't  you  light,  Brother  Murray?"  old  Bob  Gan- 
sett  asked. 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  65 

"No,  I  believe  not." 

"Better  git  down  an'  look  at  yo*  saddle,"  said  Mort 
Haney.  "We're  goin'  ter  open  a  kag  uv  nails  an'  wring 
a  dish-rag  atter  a  while." 

The  preacher,  smiling  blandly,  said  that  he  would 
greatly  enjoy  such  an  occassion.  Just  then  the  welcome 
sound  of  the  dinner-horn  was  heard.  Braley,  who  had 
returned  from  his  skirmish,  said,  "Parson,  we'd  like  fur 
yer  to  ax  a  blessin'  fur  us  at  ther  dinner-table.  Uv  co'se 
yer  nee'n't  er  eat  nothin'." 

"I'll  see  about  the  eating  part/'  Mr.  Murray  laugh 
ingly  replied. 

"Come  on,  all  han's,"  shouted  Braley.  "Let's  eat  an' 
git  back  yere,  fur  we  ain't  mor'n  half  through  yit." 

The  preacher  dismounted,  and,  with  his  bridle  rein 
thrown  over  his  arm,  walked  with  the  men.  When  Len 
reached  the  house  he  found  that  Colonel  Bently  had 
arrived,  and,  among  several  women  who  had  come,  he 
found  Ned  Hobdy,  the  little  girl  who  had  so  deeply  im 
pressed  him.  While  the  men  were  on  the  gallery,  wash 
ing  their  faces  and  hands,  the  girl  approached  Len,  who 
stood  apart  from  the  rest  and  said: — 

"Howdy?' 

"Why,  how  are  you,  little  miss?" 

"Whut  yer  reckon  I  come  fur?"  she  asked,  with  a 
laugh. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"I  didn't  come  ter  eat  dinner  like  yer  think  I  did; 
but  I  come  just  because  pap  said  I  could.  Air  yer  glad 
ter  see  me?" 

"Yes,  very  glad." 


56  LEN  GANSETT. 

"I  don't  believe  yer.  Ef  I  wuz  er  grown  lady  yer 
mout  be,  but  yer  ain't  as  it  is.  Do  yer  see  this  new 
coat?"  she  said,  shaking  the  skirt  of  a  bright-colored 
dress. 

"Yes." 

"I  made  it  myse'f.    Ain't  I  smart?" 

"Come  on  in  ter  dinner,"  shouted  Braley.  "Young 
feller,"  addressing  Len,  "I'm  goin'  ter  pull  yer  this 
evenin'.  YerM  better  git  strength  outen  the  pot." 


LEN  Q&NSETT.  57 


VS. 

THE  table,  spliced  with  boards  and  "set  off"  with 
many  old  dishes  with  blue  rims,  extended  the  full  length 
of  the  dining  room.  Some  of  the  men  put  on  their 
coats,  but  the  majority  of  them  sat  down  in  "shirt- 
sleeved"  disregard  of  appearances.  Mrs.  Gransett  was 
much  worried  by  the  cares  imposed  upon  her,  but  then 
she  was  never  happier  than  when  she  contemplated  her 
guests  in  the  act  of  "gorgin'  their  appetites."  Colonel 
Bently  had  sent  a  bear  roast,  which  proved  an  attractive 
feature  of  the  dinner. 

Colonel  Bently  (addressing  Braley):  "How  are  you 
getting  along  with  the  work?" 

Braley:  "Fust-rate,  con'l;  fust-rate.  Some  uv  the 
logs  air  old  residenters;  but  we  kotch  'em  nappin'  an* 
have  put  'em  whar  they'll  do  the  most  good." 

Mort  Haney:  "Oh,  Braley  knows  how  ter  take  advan 
tage.  It  comes  nachul  ter  him." 

Braley  (with  due  appreciation  of  the  compliment): 
"Bet  yer  life  I  do!  Whut  do  yer  think  uv  it,  young 
feller?"  (addressing  Len). 

Len:    "You  seem  to  understand  your  business." 

Braley:  "Now  yer're  shoutin'.  When  yer  wake  up 
in  the  mornin'  an'  find  yer  j'ints  like  rusty  hinges,  yer'll 
be  willin'  ter  bet  that  I'm  ther  cap'n." 

Bently  (addressing  old  Bob):  "I  am  inclined  to  be 
lieve  that  our  friends  will  find  Len  to  be  much  tougher 
than  they  imagined." 


58  LEN  GANSETT. 

Old  Bob:  "Let  'em  go  ahead.  I  never  seen  a  Gansett 
that  was  easily  floored,  an'  I  don't  b'l'eve  they  ken  do 
much  to  him." 

Mrs.  Gansett:  "Air  you  men  tryin'  to  plague  that 
child?" 

Len  (with  an  air  of  embarassment):  "Grandma,  I 
must  protest  against  being  called  a  child." 

Asa  More:  "Ef  he's  a  child,  I'd  like  to  know  how 
big  ther  men  git  whar  he  come  frum.  I'll  take  another 
help  ter  that  sweet-pertater  pie,  ef  yer  please.  Not  as 
much  as  yer  give  me  befo'.  'Bout  half  as  much." 

Eufe  Malone:  "Jest  as  well  give  him  as  much,  fer  ef 
yer  don't  he'll  ax  fur  mo'." 

Braley:  "By  ther  way,  colonel,  hain't  hearn  nothin' 
frum  the  stage-robbers  yit,  I  reckon?" 

Bently:  "No;  as  they  have  not  furnished  information 
with  regard  to  their  whereabouts,  the  officers  of  the 
law  have  not  found  them.  The  reward  I  offered,  of 
course,  had  a  stimulating  effect,  but  has  resulted  in 
nothing  but  assurances  that  the  rascals  shall  be  brought 
in.  Honeycut,  who  seems  to  possess  some  of  the  unen 
viable  qualifications  of  the  bloodhound,  is  still  on  the 
track.  He  is  certain  that  the  leader  of  the  gang  is  Steve 
Grade,  the  Missouri  outlaw.  I  don't  know  what  reasons 
he  has  for  believing  this,  but  reconcile  it  with  the  reflect 
ion  that  if  we  believe  nothing  except  that  which  is 
based  upon  reason  so  plain  that  every  man  can  see  it, 
we  would  indeed  be  an  incredulous  people.  With  regard 
to  one  thing  I  have  made  up  my  mind, — that  if  the  law 
will  not  give  me  better  protection  I  shall  discontinue 
the  stage  line." 


LEN  GANSETT.  59 

Bob  Gansett:  "I  hope,  you  won't  do  that,  colonel, 
for  it  would  be  a  serious  loss  to  tbe  community." 

Bently:  "Then  let  those  who  profess  to  uphold  the 
law  take  that  into  consideration.  No  one  should  expect 
me  to  go  on  in  this  way." 

Len:  "I  share  your  opinion,  colonel.  If  the  law  is 
powerless  to  protect  you,  I  would,  if  so  situated,  pro 
tect  myself,  by  withdrawing  from  an  enterprise  so  full 
of  loss  and  vexation." 

Braley  (shoving  back  his  chair):  "Gentlewm,  yer 
talk  may  be  mighty  interesting  but  it  don't  roll  logs.  I 
don't  want  ter  hurry  yer,  but  it's  time  we  wuz  a-gittin' 
back  down  thar." 

Asa  More:    "Oh,  don't  be  snatched!" 

Braley:  "Talk's  cheap,  but  it  don't  lift  nuthin'. 
Come  ahead,  gentlemenl" 

The  logs  were  piled  and  fired  before  the  sun  went 
down  behind  a  curtain  of  November  gauze.  The  men, 
when  their  work  was  done,  sat  around  a  blazing  log-heap 
and  told  jokes  that  had  come  from  North  Carolina  many 
years  before.  On  one  occasion  Mr.  Mangus  Dockery, 
editor  and  presumable  owner  of  the  "Picket,"  had  pub 
lished  several  of  these  jokes,  having  been  assured  that 
the  incidents  related  had  taken  place  in  the  Abbott's 
Ford  neighborhood;  and,  several  weeks  afterward,  while 
searching  his  exchanges  to  see  if  any  of  them  had  been 
copied,  he  became  indignant  upon  finding  the  following 
parapraph  in  a  Tennessee  paper:  "An  insignificant 
sheet  in  Arkansas,  limitedly  known  as  the  Ticket/  is 
not  content  with  clipping  articles  without  giving  credit, 
but  publishes  as  original  old  jokes  that  were  brought  in 


60  LEX  GANSETT. 

wagons  to  Tennessee  seventy-five  years  ago.  A  driver 
of  a  certain  wagon,  when  asked  where  he  got  his  load  of 
jokes,  said  that  they  were  willed  to  him  by  his  grand 
father,  who  had  inherited  them  from  his  mother's  great- 
uncle/' 

"What  air  you  men  jowerin'  about?"  old  Bob  Gansett 
asked,  turning  to  Asa  More  and  Eufe  Malone. 

More:    "Nothin'  in  perticuler." 

Malone:  "Yas,  it  is  sumthin'  in  perticuler.  Asa 
called  me  a  lie  an'  I  don't  'low  ter  put  up  with  it, 
nuther." 

More:  "Wall,  he  did  tell  a  lie,  an'  thar  ain't  no  use 
''n  tryin'  to  crawl  out  en  it.  Said  that  his  daddy  come 
ter  this  State  befo'  mine  did." 

Colonel  Bently:  "Well,  what  difference  does  that 
make?  In  view  of  my  own  recent  trouble  I  am  almost 
tempted  to  say  that  coming  here  did  not  reflect  credit 
on  either  of  them." 

More:  "That's  all  right,  but  I  wanter  be  put  squar' 
on  the  record.  Rufe's  been  tryin'  ter  pick  a  quarrel 
with  me  fur  some  time,  an'  now  dam'f  he  kain't  git  it." 

Malone:  "Ain't  been  tryin'  ter  pick  a  quarrel  with 
yer,  no  sich  uv  a  thing,  an'  yer  know  yer  air  lyin'  when 
yer  say  so." 

Bob  Gansett  (with  an  air  which  Len  had  never  before 
seen  him  assume,  but  which  was  well  known  to  certain 
people  in  the  community):  "Hold  on,  boys,  I  don't 
want  no  fightin'  here,  an'  by  the  bones  o'  old  Andy 
Jackson,  I  won't  have  it!  More,  set  down  there!" 

More  (resuming  his  seat):    "Jest  as  yer  say,  old  man. 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  61 

Say,  'spose  yer  sen*  fur  yer  jug  an*  let's  have  soom 
licker." 

Bob.  Gansett:  "Rot  a  drap  o'  licker  do  you  get  here. 
When  a  row  begins  it's  no  time  to  handle  the  jug." 

More:  "That's  all  right.  We  was  jes  foolin'  wa'n't 
we,  Rufe?" 

Malone:    "Yas,  that's  about  all." 

Gansett:  "You  fellers  would  make  any  sort  o*  ack 
nowledgment  now  that  whiskey  is  under  discussion,  but 
it's  better  not  to  have  any  now.  You  air  welcome  to  it, 
boys,  that  is,  so  far  as  givin'  it  is  concerned,  but  as 
things  have  took  an  ugly  shape  you  kain't  git  a  drap/' 

Old  Bob's  last  remark  closed  the  discussion,  and  one 
by  one  the  men  sought  their  homes.  Braley  went  to  the 
house  with  old  man  Gansett.  When  they  had  entered 
the  yard,  Braley  said: — 

"Ole  man,  I  don't  like  ter  ax  yer,  but  I'd  like  ter  have 
a  rnidlin'  uv  meat.  We're  out  at  my  house,  an'  ef  yer'll 
let  me  have  it  I'll  pay  yer  fur  it  in  a  day  ur  two/' 

"Pay  the  devil/'  the  old  man  replied.  "I  don't  want 
no  pay.  You  ken  git  all  the  meat  you  want.  Come  inter 
the  smoke-house  an'  pick  out  what  you  want." 

Braley  selected  a  "side"  of  bacon,  and,  carrying  it  like 
a  carpet-bag,  took  his  way  homeward.  His  battle  had 
been  won,  but  the  victory  illumined  not  his  brow — lent 
not  elastic  pride  to  his  step.  As  he  climbed  over  a  fence, 
or,  rather,  as  he  sat  a  moment  on  a  fence,  with  his  bacon 
resting  beside  him,  he  was  an  ideal  picture  of  sub 
jugation,  of  a  meekness  which  could  feel  no  resentment. 
When  he  reached  home  his  children  greeted  him  with 
shouts,  and  one  of  the  boys,  whose  appetite  for  the 


62  LEN  GANSETT. 

"greasy"  must  have  been  keen,  ran  to  his  mother  and 
exclaimed: — 

'Top's  got  hog-meat." 

Braley  entered  his  house  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
owes  an  apology.  His  wife  shook  out  her  knob  of  red 
hair  and  snapped: — 

"Putty  time  uv  day  ter  be  gittin'  home." 

"Here's  some  midlin'  meat,"  Braley  replied,  holding 
up  his  treasure  as  a  propitiation. 

"I  see  it,"  his  wife  said,  with  a  snarl.  "Think  that 
all  yer*ve  got  ter  do  is  to  work  like  a  dog  all  day  an' 
then  fetch  home  a  little  modikin  uv  meat.  Dan's  bar*- 
footed,  an'  'Liza  ain't  got  no  shoes,  an'  here  yer  stay 
away  all  day." 

They  wouldn'ter  had  no  shoes  ef  I  hader  stayed  at 
home,  would  they?" 

"Oh,  shet  your  mouth!  I  never  seed  the  like  on  the 
face  uv  the  Lawd'ul  Mighty's  yeth.  It  do  'pear  like  ther 
men  is  a-gettin'  wus  an'  wus  ercount  ever5  day.  I  wush 
I  wuz  a  man." 

"Wush  yer  wuz,"  Braley  meekly  replied. 

"Oh,  shet  your  mouth!  Yer  doan'  know  whut  you 
wush.  Fur  the  Lawd's  sake!"  she  exclaimed,  turning 
in  bewilderment,  and  contemplating  the  fragment  of  a 
garment  which  one  of  the  children  held  up  in  the  door 
way;  "that  fetchtaked,  deternal  ca'f  has  chawed  the 
sleeves  offen  my  caliker  coat." 

"Wall,  wall,"  said  Braley,  "we'll  git  anuther  one." 

"Who'll  git  anuther  one?"  she  snapped.  "I'd  a  like 
ter  see  yer  git  one.  I've  been  livin'  with  yer  long  time, 
an'  I  don't  know  when  yer  got  me  one." 


LEN  GANSETT.  63 

"I  ken  tell  yer.    Las'  Ginnywerry  wuz  a  year  ago." 

''Wall,  it  wuz  give  ter  you.  Oh,  don't  talk  ter  me,  fur 
yer  ain't  no  'count.  Whut  did  yer  have  fer  dinner  ter- 
day?" 

"We  had  a  b'ar  roast,  an'  chicken  pie,  an'  fresh  hog- 
meat,  an'  slice  pertater  pie,  an'  I  don't  know  whut  all." 

"Yes,  an'  I  lay  yer  stuffed  yerse'f  tell  yer  wus  fit  to 
pop.  Ole  Buckley  wuz  here  ter-day  an'  he  wants  yer  ter 
he'p  him  gether  co'n  ter-morrer.  I  reckon  yer  air  glad 
uv  it,  fer  it  gives  yer  a  chance  ter  git  away  frum  home 
ag'in.  I  wush  I  wuz  er  a  man." 

"Wush  yer  wuz." 

"Oh,  shet  yer  mouth!" 

There  was  one  little  soul  that  evening  who  went  to  a 
dreary  home, — Ned  Hobdy.  She  found  her  father  sit 
ting  by  a  cheerless  hearth.  She  brought  in  several  sticks 
of  wood  when  she  entered,  and  placed  them  on  the  fire. 
The  old  man's  face  was  darkened  by  pain.  His  hair  was 
bushed  up  in  antagonism  to  all  gentleness,  and  his 
watery  eyes  snapped  in  anger: 

"Whut  ther  he'll  made  yer  stay  all  day?"  he  ex 
claimed. 

"Couldn't  get  erway  no  sooner,  dad." 

"Ther  hell  yer  say." 

"Dad,  please  don't  cuss  an'  fuss,"  she  said,  approach 
ing  the  old  man,  gently  stroking  his  grizzly  hair,  and 
pressing  her  beautiful  face  against  his  forehead. 

"Wall,  damn  it,  how  did  yer  expect  me  ter  git  along?" 

"W'y>  dad,  yer  said  yer  rheumatiz  wuz  better,  an'  that 
I  mout  go." 

"Yes,  damn  it;  but  it  come  back  to  me." 


64  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Don't  cuss,  dad.  Ther  bad  man'll  git  yer  ef  yer  do. 
Look,"  she  added,  taking  up  a  basket  which  she  had 
brought,  "here's  a  whole  lot  uv  nice  things  Mrs.  Gansett 
give  us.  I'll  set  ther  table  an'  we'll  have  er  nice  time." 

"Is  ole  Gansett's  nephew  still  thar?" 

"Yas,  sir." 

"Proud  as  the  devil,  ain't  he?" 

"No,  sir.    He's  jest  as  nice  as  he  ken  be." 

"Yas,  like  hell." 

"Dad,  ther  bad  man'll  git  yer  she-  ef  yer  don't  stop 
cussin'.  One  time  ther  wuz  a  man  an'  he  cussed  an' 
cussed.  Ever'body  tole  him  ter  stop,  but  he  wouldn't 
do  it.  He'd  cuss  when  he  went  ter  bed  an'  cuss  when 
he  got  up,  so,  one  day,  the  bad  man  came  an'  put  a 
chain  roun'  his  neck  an'  led  him  away  off  down  in  the 
holler  an — " 

The  old  man  laughed,  and  the  girl  sprang  to  his  side, 
seized  him  with  a  pretence  of  violence  and  kissed  him. 

"Wouldn't  treat  me  mean,  would  yer,  dad?" 

"No,  little  precious,  fur  yer  air  the  sweetes'  thing  in 
ther  worl'.  I  love  yer — " 

"Thar  now,  dad,"  she  said,  as  the  old  man  began  to 
shed  tears.  "Jes  cuss  as  much  as  yer  wanter  an'  ther 
bad  man  shan't  have  yer — no,  he  shan't.  Don't  cry,  fur 
we're  goin'  ter  have  sich  er  nice  supper,  an'  then  I'll  rub 
all  the  pains  away,  an'  then  we'll  be  all  right.  Jes'  set 
right  still  now  till  I  fix  ther  table.  Here's  some  jelly  fur 
yer  an'  some* — some  ever'thing.  That's  a  good  dad. 
Wait  now  till  I  fix  yer  cheer." 

Eufe  Malone  was  strolling  along  the  road  leading  in 


LEN  GANSETT.  65 

the  direction  of  his  home  when  he  was  overtaken  by  Asa 
More. 

"Whut's  yer  hurry?"  More  asked. 

"Ain't  in  much  uv  er  hurry/'  Malone  replied,  turning 
and  waiting  for  More. 

"Joggin'  towards  home?"  More  asked. 

"Yas,  got  my  feedin'  ter  do." 

"Wush  the  old  man  had  give  us  some  o'  that  licker," 
said  More.  "I  need  a  drink  right  now." 

"So  do  I." 

"S'pose  we  go  on  out  ter  Dogwood  an'  git  some,"  More 
suggested. 

"Eeckon  we  ken  make  ther  raise?" 

"I  think  so.    Dockery  knows  whar  it  is." 

"I  wouldn't  mind  goin',  Asa,  but  I've  got  ter  go  home 
an'  feed." 

"The  stock  ken  wait  tell  yer  git  back.  Let's  cut  across 
here.  Whut  do  yer  say?" 

"All  right,  I'm  with  yer." 

They  found  Mr.  Dockery  in  his  office.  The  editor 
was  assuring  a  man  that  the  debt  should  be  paid  im 
mediately.  "Wait  till  the  mail  comes  in,"  said  Mr. 
Dockery.  "That  is,  you  needn't  wait,  for  I  understand 
that  the  stage  is  late,  but  come  round  in  the  morning." 

The  man  suddenly  withdrew  and  the  editor  greeted 
his  friends. 

"Who  is  that  feller?"  More  asked,  meaning  the  man 
who  had  just  left. 

"Oh,  he's  a  galoot,"  Dockery  replied.  "He's  the  fel 
low  that  started  a  saw-mill  about  ten  miles  from  here. 


66  LEN  GANSETT. 

some  time  ago.  I  owe  him  for  some  lumber,  and  he  acts 
like  a  crazy  man." 

"He'll  be  atter  yer  ag'in  in  the  mornin',"  said  Malone, 
"fur  yer  tole  him  yer'd  pay  him  when  the  mail  come  in. 
'Spect  any  money  in  the  mail?" 

"There  might  be  some.  It's  missed  so  often  that  it 
ought  to  hit  this  time." 

"Anybody  owe  yer?"  More  asked. 

"Let  me  see.  Yes,  one  man  in  Little  Eock  owes  me. 
Yes,  but  I  see  that  he's  dead.  Anyway,  I  might  get 
some  money.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  looking  for  a 
registered  letter.  I  don't  know  exactly  who  from,  but  I 
feel  as  though  one  is  on  the  road.  It  would  be  just  like 
some  fellow  to  send  me  an  advertisement  with  payment 
in  advance." 

"Say,  Dock,"  said  More,  "we  didn't  come  to  hear 
about  your  prospecks,  but  ter  see  ef  we  couldn't  mak  the 
raise  uv  a  little  licker." 

"I  don't  know,  boys,  whether — " 

"Oh,  yas,  yer  do  know." 

"Let  me  see.  I  know  where  we  can  get  some  stuff, 
but  I  tell  you  now  that  it  ain't  good." 

"It'll  jolt  a  feller,  won't  it?"  Malone  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  it'll  jolt." 

"That's  all  we  want." 

"Well,  let's  go  then,"  said  Dockery.  "We'll  have  to 
be  sly  about  it." 

Night  had  set  in  and  clouds  had  blotted  out  the  stars. 
Dockery  shuddered  as  he  closed  the  door  of  his  office. 
He  might  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  spectacle  which 
he  was  soon  to  witness. 


LEN  OANSETT.  67 


VIII. 

THE  three  men  went  into  the  back  room  of  a  dis 
reputable-looking  shanty,  kept  by  an  old  man  whose  hair 
and  beard  were  white  with  a  pretence  of  honorable  age, 
but  in  whose  eyes  there  was  a  twinkling  squint,  that 
peculiar  look  and  that  sly  snap  which  has  never  char 
acterized  the  eyes  of  the  truly  honest  man.  The  man 
who  sneaks  around  and  gets  a  drink  of  whiskey  at  a 
"blind  tiger"  may  be  an  honest  man,  that  is,  he  has 
many  chances  in  favor  of  such  a  supposition;  but  it  is 
a  pretty  well  accepted  fact  that  the  man  who  keeps  the 
"blind  tiger"  is  perfectly  willing  to  take  money  and  run 
the  risk  of  having  it  said  that  he  acquired  it  in  a  way 
peculiar  to  the  methods  of  honest}7". 

The  room  in  which  the  visitors  were  shown  was  dimly 
lighted  by  a  nickering  candle,  placed  upon  a  bracket 
made  of  a  shingle  and  supported  by  a  wooden  peg.  The 
three  men  drew  chairs  up  to  a  rough  table  and  sat  down. 

"Who's  doing  this?"  said  the  editor,  placing  his 
elbows  on  the  table. 

"Oh,  I  reckon  we  air,"  Asa  More  replied.  "I've  got 
a  little  dust  summers  down  here  in  my  sock.  Here,  old 
man,"  addressing  the  proprietor,  "fetch  us  some  licker." 

The  old  man  held  up  his  hands,  and  with  a  quaint 
caper  of  caution  hissed  "S-h!" 

"Wall,  now,  here,"  said  Malone,  "what's  the  use'n  all 
this  tomfoolery?  Yer  know  whut  we  come  in  here  fur." 

"Yas,  I  know;  oh,  yes,  gentlemen,  I  know,"  the  old 


68  LEN  GANSETT. 

man  replied,  rubbing  his  hands  together  as  he  approach 
ed  the  table.  "What'll  yer  have  ?" 

"Licker,  uv  co'se,"  said  More. 

"All  right,  gentleman,  but  we  hafter  be  mighty  quiet 
about  it.  There's  a  lot  uv  fellers  nosin'  roun'  fur  ther 
gran'  jury  an' — " 

"Oh,  wall,  give  us  the  bug-juice  an'  don't  talk,"  More 
broke  in.  "We  know  whut  yer're  here  fur." 

The  old  man  brought  three  glasses  of  whiskey  and  a 
tin  cup  of  water. 

"Great  Geehossiphat!"  exclaimed  Malone,  as  he  put 
down  his  glass;  "this  stuff's  strong  enough  ter  kill  a 
mule." 

"You'd  better  look  out,  then,"  Dockery  replied. 

"An'  now,  here,"  rejoined  More,  "we  don't  want  no 
editin'  bus'ness  in  ourn.  Needn't  think  that  'cause 
yer've  got  mo'  edycation  than  we  have  that  yer're  bet- 
ter'n  we  air." 

"Don't  think  so,  my  dear  fellow;  don't  think  so," 
Dockery  replied,  as  he  put  down  the  cup  of  water.  "I'm 
your  friend — by  the  way,  Malone,  your  subscription's 
out.  You  told  me  some  time  ago  that  you  couldn't  get 
along  without  the  Ticket,'  and  you'd  better  renew. 
What  do  you  say,  old  fellow  P' 

"I  don't  b'l'eve  I  wanter  sign  fur  it  ter-day,"  Malone 
replied. 

"Oh,  now,  here,"  said  Dockery,  "you  know  that  you 
want  it." 

"Dang  it,  Dock,  I  ain't  got  ther  money." 

"I  saw  that  you  had  three  dollars  just  now." 

"I  know,  but  I  am  a-needin'  uv  that." 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  69 

"Don't  need  it  as  much  as  I  do." 

"That  mout  be,  but  I  ain't  perpared  ter  think  as  you 
do/' 

"Here,"  said  Dockery,  calling  the  old  man,  "repeat 
this." 

The  old  man  refilled  the  glasses  and  Dockery  said, 
"Kemember  this  against  me." 

The  old  man  muttered  his  disapproval  of  remember 
ing  it  against  Mr.  Dockery,  whereupon  the  editor  said: — 

"Oh,  now,  here,  you  know  I'm  all  right.  You  were 
willing  to  trust  me  one  time." 

"Y?s,"  the  old  man  replied,  "an'  ef  I  hadn'ter  trusted 
yer  then  I  mout  be  mo'  willin'  ter  do  it  now." 

"Well,  that's  all  right.  We'll  fix  it.  My  regards, 
gentlemen!" 

"Dock,"  said  Malone,  "we  had  ther  boss  dinner  ter- 
day  over  at  old  Gansett's.  Helped  him  roll  his  logs. 
Fine  time,  I  tell  yer.  Preacher  Murray  come  bogin' 
along  jest  about  dinner-time.  He  didn't  talk  much  at 
the  table,  fep  he  kep'  his  mouth  putty  well  stopped  up 
with  viddles.  I'd  hate  ter  have  as  straung  apertite  as 
that  man's  got  an'  not  have  nothin'  ter  dam  her  up  with. 
He's  er  rip  snorter,  as  the  feller  says.  Old  man,  give  us 
another  dose  uv  yer  pizen." 

The  old  man,  still  cautious  and  nervous  whenever  he 
heard  a  sound,  filled  the  glasses  again. 

"Drink  hearty,"  said  Malone,  as  he  raised  his  glass. 
"I  tell  yer  whut's  er  fack,"  he  added,  wiping  his  mouth 
on  his  coat-sleeve,  "they  may  say  what  they  please  about 
licker,  but  it's  a  dev'lish  good  thing  in  its  place.  As  the 
feller  says,  we  need  a  little  somethin'  to  brace  us  up." 


70  LEN  G  AN  SETT. 

"Yes/'  replied  Dockery,  "man  needs  a  stimulant,  not 
so  strong  as  this  stuff/' — tapping  the  rim  of  his  glass, — • 
"but  a  little  livelier  than  ordinary  water." 

"Gentlemen"  said  the  old  man,  "I  wush  yer  wouldn't 
talk  quite  so  loud." 

"Damn  it,  what's  the  matter  with  you?"  More  ex 
claimed.  "Yer  put  me  in  mine  uv  er  skeery  hoss  that's 
allus  lookin'  out  fur  somethin'  ter  git  skeered  at." 

"Wall,  yer  know  they  mout  snatch  me  up  an — " 

"Oh,  let  'em  snatch!" 

"I  don't  say  let  um  snatch,"  the  old  man  replied. 
"They  snatched  me  wunst,  an'  I  liked  ter  never  got 
outen  it." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Dockery,  with  an  air  of  im 
patience.  "We'll  not  discuss  it.  I  know,  we  all  know, 
that  you  run  risk,  but — say,  my  old  friend,  give  us  a 
little  more  of  this  stuff,  and  to-morrow  I'll — " 

"Not  another  drap,  Mr.  Dockery,  without  ther 
money." 

"Oh,  well,  it's  just  as  you  say." 

"Dock,"  said  Malone,  "Asa  an'  me  come  mighty  nigh 
comin'  tergether  ter-day." 

"That  so?" 

"It's  er  fack,"  More  replied;  "but  we  made  it  up." 

Malone:  "As  the  feller  says,  Asa  an'  me  couldn't 
afford  ter  be  at  outs." 

More:  "No,  bet  your  bottom  dollar  we  can't.  We've 
been  knowin'  each  other  er  laung  time,  an'  our  folks 
befo'  us  knowed  each  other." 

Dockery:    "The  strong  ties  which  hold  you  together 


LEN  6ANSETT.  71 

could  not  "be  easily  broken.  What  did  you  quarrel  about 
to-day?" 

"Nothing  but  a  piece  uv  foolishness.  "We  got  ter 
talkin'  about  when  our  people  come  ter  this  State,  and 
Asa  called  me  er  lie,  an'  then  we  jowered  a  little." 

More:  "Yas,  I  called  him  a  lie,  but  we  made  it  all 
right  atterwards.  Fetch  us  some  more  licker,  ole  skin 
flint!" 

The  glasses  were  filled  again.  The  men  were  loud  in 
declamation. 

Malone:  "Any  man  that  says  I've  got  anything  ag'in' 
Asa  is  a  damn  lie." 

Dockery:  "I  never  heard  any  one  make  such  an 
assertion.'* 

Malone  (striking  the  table):  "An',  by  God,  nobody'd 
better  say  it!" 

More:  "Nobody  will  say  it,  Eufe.  Ever'body  knows 
that  we  love  each  other  like  brothers.  Wy,  dang  it, 
I'd  fight  fur  yer  quicker'n  lightnin'!" 

Malone:    "Gimme  yer  han',  ole  podner." 

More  (grasping  Malone's  hand):  "Put  her  thar.  Yas 
(turning  to  Dockery),  we  like  ter  fit  ter-day;  but  yer  see 
hew  we  feel  about  it  now." 

Malone:  "Like  ter  fit  er  about  er  damn  piece  uv 
foolishness,  too.  Asa  called  me  er  lie  an' — " 

More:    "Yas,  but,  dang  it,  we  made  it  all  right." 

Malone:    "I  know  that  as  well  as  anybody  does." 

More:    "Wall,  then,  let  it  drap." 

Malone:    "Ain't  it  dun  drapped?" 

More:    "Don't  'pear  like  it  has." 

Malone:    "Ther  hell  it  don't," 


72  LEN  GANSETT. 

More:    "Yas,  ther  hell  it  don't." 

Dockery:  "Gentlemen,  your  quarrel  has  been  ad 
justed,  therefore  let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

More:  "I  ginerally  talk  about  what  I  damn  please, 
an'  I  don't  need  no  advice,  nuther." 

Malone  (addressing  More):  "An'  ef  yer  think  that  I 
don't  talk  like  I  damn  please  yer're  on  the  wraung  road." 

More:  "It  don't  make  er  damn  bit  uv  diffunce  ter  me 
how  yer  talk." 

Malone:  "Wall,  keep  on  a-thinkin'  thater  way  an' 
yer'll  get  slipped  up  on  atter  awhile." 

More:  "Oh,  I  know  yer're  ther  sort  uv  man  ter  slip 
up  on  er  feller." 

Malone:    "Never  slipped  up  on  nobody  yit." 

More:  "No,  an'  yer'd  better  never  try  ter  slip  up  on 
me." 

Malone:  "I  don't  have  ter  slip  up  on  yer.  I  ain't 
afeerd  uv  yer,  Asa  More,  an'  the  sooner  yer  reckernize 
that  fack  ther  better  it'll  be  fur  yer." 

Dockery:    "Gentlemen,  don't  quarrel." 

The  old  man:  "I  don't  want  no  quarrelin'  in  my 
house." 

More:  "It  don't  make  er  damn  bit  uv  diffunce  whut 
yer  want,  yer've  got  ter  take  whut  comes.  Kuf e  Malone, 
I  called  yer  a  lie  ter-day,  an'  I  meant  it  too." 

Malone  sprang  to  his  feet  and  exclaimed,  "Take  that 
back,  uv  you'll  wush  yer  hed." 

More  arose  and  said,  "I  take  nothin'  back.  I  ken 
whup  any  uv  the  Malones  ther  best  day  they  ever  seed." 

"Oh,  sit  down,  boys,"  Dockery  expostulated.  "It 
won't  do  to  get  into  a  fight  here." 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  73 

"It'll  do  ter  git  inter  er  fight  anywhar  an'  at  any  time 
when  er  man  calls  me  er  lie,"  Malone  vociferated. 
"More,  ain't  yer  goin'  ter  take  that  back?" 

"No,  I  ain't." 

"I'll  give  yer  five  minits." 

"Make  it  five  seconds." 

Malone  seized  a  hatchet  that  lay  on  a  barrel  and  made 
a  motion  at  More.  More  "ducked"  his  head,  and  then, 
with  a  terrible  blow,  Malone  buried  the  blade  of  the 
hatchet  in  More's  head.  A  groan,  and  the  man  fell 
dead. 

"Great  God!"  exclaimed  Dockery.  "What  have  you 
done?" 

"I've  killed  a  damn  scoundrel,  that's  what  I've  done. 
Let  me  outen  here.  Don't  yer  try  ter  stop  me,  ole  man, 
fur  I'll  kill  yer  in  er  minit !" 

Malone  rushed  from  the  room.  Dockery  and  the  old 
man  gazed  upon  the  horrible  sight.  A  gust  of  wind 
extinguished  the  candle.  The  two  men  could  hear  the 
blood  dripping  from  the  table.  The  old  man,  after  much 
fumbling,  lighted  the  candle.  The  murdered  man  was 
gone.  Dockery  and  the  old  man  looked  in  amazement 
at  each  other. 

"Great  Lord!"  said  Dockery,  "what  has  become  of 
him?" 

"It  beats  anythin'  I  ever  seed,"  the  old  man  replied. 
"Even  ef  he'd  been  erlive  he  couldn't  er  got  out  with 
out  me  knowin'  it,  fur  I  was  standin'  right  here  in  the 
do'.  I  don't  un'erstan'  it,  I  tell  yer." 

"Well,  I'll  swear!"  said  Dockery.  "If  a  man  had  told 
me  that  such  a  thing  could  happen  I  would  have  thought 


74  LEN  GANSETT. 

him  a  fool.  "We've  got  no  time,  though,  to  investigate 
mysteries.  It  is  our  duty  to  go  and  inform  the  authori 
ties." 

The  town  was  soon  aroused.  The  "blind  tiger"  was 
ablaze  with  lanterns  and  torches.  The  place  was  search 
ed,  but  save  the  blood  on  the  floor,  not  a  trace  of  the 
murdered  man  could  be  found. 

"You  fellers  air  puttin'  up  a  joke  on  us,"  said  the 
sheriff. 

"I'll  swear  by  all  things  holy  that  I  saw  More's  head 
split  open  with  a  hatchet,  and  I  saw  him  lying  dead  on 
the  floor." 

"Then  why  ain't  he  here  now?" 

"That  is  something  beyond  my  ability  to  explain." 

"Well,  there's  something  mighty  crooked  somewhere. 
We  can't  hold  an  inquest  until  we  find  the  body.  I 
reckon  you  fellers  had  better  come  along  with  me,"  ad 
dressing  Dockery  and  the  old  man.  "I'll  have  to  keep 
you  in  hand  tell  this  matter  is  sorter  cleared  up.  Now, 
don't  get  excited,  Mr.  Dockery.  Of  course  we  don't 
charge  you  with  committing  murder,  but  almost  any 
thing  can  happen  in  a  "blind  tiger." 

"I'll  give  bond  for  my  appearance,"  said  the  editor. 

"I  reckon  not,"  replied  the  sheriff.  "Affairs  of  this 
sort  ain't  bailable,  if  I  understand  th«  law.  I  don't  like 
to  take  such  a  course,  but  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  take  you 
to  jail.  Oh,  yes,  you'll  go,  Mr.  Dockery.  I'm  your 
friend,  understand;  but  you'll  have  to  board  with  me  till 
we  understand  the  situation  a  little  better.  Come  onP 


LEN  GANSETT. 


IX. 

OLD  Bob  Gansett  was  foreman  of  the  grand  jury. 
There  is  some  difference  between  the  foreman  of  a  grand 
jury  and  the  foreman  of  a  petit  jury,  for  the  foreman  of 
a  petit  jury  is  expected  to  know  nothing,  whereas  the 
foreman  of  a  grand  jury  is  expected  to  know  everything. 
Old  Bob,  with  his  characteristic  energy,  exerted  himself 
in  behalf  of  Dockery  and  the  old  man  who  kept  the 
"blind  tiger;"  and,  with  an  eye  to  exact  justice,  it  was 
his  purpose  to  exculpate  the  old  man  from  the  suspicion 
of  complicity  in  a  murder,  and  then  indict  him  on  the 
charge  of  unlawfully  selling  liquor.  When  old  Buck — • 
the  only  name  by  which  the  "blind  tiger"  man  was 
known —  discovered  this,  he  more  than  ever  lamented 
the  fact  that  a  murder  had  been  committed,  not  on 
account  of  the  atrocity  of  the  crime,  but  because  his  own 
ungodly  vocation  had  been  exposed. 

The  sheriff  arrested  Malone.  When  found,  Malone 
was  in  the  woods,  chopping  a  saw-log;  and  when  the 
sheriff  made  known  the  object  of  his  visit  Malone  stuck 
his  axe  into  a  stump  and  said: — 

"Uv  co'se  I'll  go  with  yer,  Jim.  This  is  all  new  ter 
me.  I  left  Dockery  an'  ole  Buck  with  More,  an'  when  I 
left  'em  More  'peared  to  be  en  joy  in'  putty  fa'r  health. 
Me  an'  More  have  allus  been  fust-rate  frien's,  an'  I  don't 
know  why  anybody  should  cuse  me  uv  killin'  him,  still 
I'll  go  with  yer." 


76  LEN  GANSETT. 

"That's  tlier  way  to  talk,  Eufe.  I  don't  believe  you  air 
guilty,  but  I  hafter  have  you  all  the  same." 

"I  know  that,  Jim,"  Malone  replied  as  he  put  on  his 
coat;  "but  it  strikes  me  in  er  putty  bad  time,  as  I've  got 
ter  git  out  er  lot  uv  logs.  Wai,  I'm  with  yer." 

The  mystery  was  still  as  deep  as  ever.  That  a  murder 
had  been  committeed  no  one  entertained  a  doubt,  for 
More  was  missing;  but  no  inquest  could  be  held  upon  the 
supposition,  even,  though  it  was  strengthened  by  the 
blood  in  the  "doggery." 

"You  kain't  do  otherwise  than  hold  Dockery  an*  ole 
Buck,"  said  Bob  Gansett,  addressing  the  sheriff;  "but 
I  am  satisfied  that  they  ain't  guilty.  Dockery  wouldn't 
kill  anything  but  whiskey." 

"I  am  of  your  opinion,  specially  consarnin'  the  whis 
key,"  the  sheriff  replied.  "I  have  thought  uv  a  plan  that 
I  think'll  work." 

"What's  that?" 

"Wall,  I  have  found  the  body." 

"What!" 

"Yes,  found  it  in  ther  woods  erbout  er  ha'fer  mile 
from  here,  buried  in  a  hole  whar  a  tree  had  blowed  up." 

"How  do  you  suppose  it  got  there?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  somebody'll  explain  befor'  long." 

"What  is  your  plan?" 

"Wall,  I'm  goin'  ter  take  Malone  outen  jail,  asshore 
him  that  he  is  at  liberty,  an'  that  we  all  b'l'eve  him  in 
nocent,  an'  take  a  walk  with  him  in  ther  woods,  in  the 
direction  uv  the  body.  If  he's  guilty  he'll  try  ter  change 
my  co'se.  Won't  want  ter  go  to  ther  place  whar  ther 
body  wuz  buried." 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  77 

"Jim,  I  didn't  know  you  understood  human  natur'  so 
well." 

The  sheriff  smiled.  "I  don't  know  nothin'  erbout 
books/'  said  he,  "but  I  know  a  right  smart  erbout  men, 
an'  men  wrote  ther  books." 

The  sheriff  went  to  the  jail,  and,  drawing  Malone 
aside,  said: — 

"Kufe,  we're  all  satisfied  that  you  ain't  guilty.  Hold 
on,  you  needri'ter  thank  me,  thank  yourse'f.  Come  on 
out  an'  le's  talk  over  this  thing.  I  want  you  ter  he'p 
me  sift  this  matter." 

"Yer  ken  bet  all  yer've  got  that  I'll  he'p  yer  all  I  ken," 
Malone  replied. 

"Oh,  I  know  that,  Eufe.  You  ain't  never  went  back 
on  me  yit." 

"No,  an'  I  never  will." 

"I  know  that." 

They  turned  away  from  the  jail  and  were  soon  in  the 
woods.  The  sheriff  began  to  talk  of  his  chances  of  re 
election.  Occasionally  he  would  clutch  Malone's  arm, 
and  sink  his  voice  into  a  confidential  tone.  Nearer  and 
nearer  they  approached  the  place  where  the  murdered 
man  had  been  buried.  Malone  attempted  to  change  the 
direction  of  their  walk,  but  the  sheriff,  enthusiastic  in 
the  enumeration  of  his  qualifications  for  office,  contin 
ued  to  approach  the  grave.  Malone  became  nervous.  Of 
course  the  sheriff  did  not  notice  it.  Malone  stopped. 

"Let's  go  over  here  an*  set  on  that  blowed-up  tree," 
said  the  sheriff. 

"No,"  replied  Malone,  "I  must  go  home." 


78  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Whut's  you  hurry,  Eufe?  Come  on,  I  want  ter  talk 
ter  you  about  the  Anderson  boys." 

Malone  walked  a  few  steps  farther  and  stopped  again. 

"Come  erhead,  Eufe." 

"No,  I— I—" 

"Look  here,  Malone,"  said  the  sheriff,  as  he  drew  a 
pistol,  "you  know  damned  well  what's  over  thar,  an' 
thar  ain't  no  use  in  tryin'  ter  honeyfuggle  me.  The 
sooner  you  own  up  the  better  it'll  be  fur  you." 

Malone  trembled  violently.  "Own  up,"  said  the 
sheriff. 

"I  kain't  hide  it,  Jim;  kain't  do  it  ter  save  my  life. 
I  killed  him." 

Malone  was  taken  back  to  the  jail.  Dockery  and  old 
Buck  were  liberated.  Malone  made  a  full  confession. 

"How  did  the  body  disappear  so  mysteriously?"  old 
Bob  Gansett  asked. 

"That's  easy  ernuff  ter  explain,"  Malone  replied. 
"When  I  rushed  outen  ther  room  I  went  roun'  ther 
house  ter  lissen  at  what  Dock  an'  Buck  had  ter  say. 
Jest  as  I  peeped  through  a  crack  ther  wind  blowed  out 
ther  candle.  The  mean  whiskey  had  made  a  devil  outen 
me  an'  I  had  nerve  ernuff  ter  do  anything.  Ther  house, 
yer  know,  is  built  erbout  two  feet  offen  ther  groun',  an' 
I  knowed  that  ther  broad  planks  uv  ther  floor  wa'nt 
nailed  down.  I  seed  xackly  whar  ther  body  laid,  an' 
when  ther  light  went  out  I  knowed  that  I  could  raise 
er  plank  an'  drag  ther  body  under  ther  house.  I  darted 
under,  an'  ther  idee  worked  like  er  charm.  By  ther 
time  the  candle  wuz  lit  ergin,  I  was  draggin'  ther  body 
frum  under  the"  house.  I  am  a  good  deal  bigger  then 


LEN  o  AN  SETT.  79 

More,  so  I  wrapped  my  coat  er  round  his  read  ter  keep 
it  frum  bleedin'  on  ther  groun',  tuck  him  up  an'  toted 
him  off, — that's  ther  whole  sum  an'  substance  uv  it." 

Shortly  after  Dockery  was  released  he  approached  Len 
Gansett,  who  had  just  come  to  town,  and,  after  cordially 
shaking  his  hand,  said: — 

"Len,  I  am  devilish  glad  to  see  you, — devilish  glad!" 

"They  had  you  in  a  pretty  close  place,  Dockery." 

"Didn't  they,  though?  The  fact  is,  I  wouldn't  care 
but  for  one  thing:  they've  fooled  around  until  I  am 
behind  with  my  paper.  My  subscribers  should  not  ex 
pect  me  to  get  it  out  on  time  when  I'm  in  jail." 

"I  should  think  not." 

"But  they  do.  Gansett,  let  me  tell  you  something. 
There  is  nothing  in  this  world  so  unreasonably  exacting 
as  a  man's  subscribers.  They  expect  him  to  be  a  saint, 
and  at  the  same  time  be  familiar  with  all  phases  of  sin; 
they  do,  damned  if  they  don't.  Now,  sir,  I'll  lose  at 
least  three  subscribers  by  this  transaction — three,  just 
think  of  it!  Say,  Len,  I'd  like  for  you  to  help  me  a 
little." 

"I  can't  set  tpye,  Dockery,  but  I'll  help  you  write." 

"My  dear  boy,  writing  is  but  a  small  part  of  news 
paper  work.  Any  unprofessional  can  write.  The  bloom 
ing  school-girl  and  the  gosling  boy  can  write." 

"Then,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"Well,  as  the  worst  has  come  to  the  worst,  I'll  teli 
you.  Just  now,  when  I  went  to  the  office,  I  found  that 
the  sheriff  had  put  a  log  chain  around  my  press.  Not 
satisfied  with  restraining  my  personal  liberties  he  must 
strike  one  more  blow  at  American  institutions  and  ham- 


80  LEN  GANSETT. 

per  the  press.  Why  did  he  do  it?  I'll  tell  you.  I  owe — 
or  at  least  he  says  I  do — an  uneducated  man  the  paltry 
sum  of  twenty  dollars  for  as  poor  a  lot  of  lumber  as  you 
ever  saw — twenty  dollars.  I  assured  him  that  he  should 
have  his  money;  but,  unwilling  to  give  me  a  chance,  he 
took  advantage  of  an  oppressive  law  and  locked  up  the 
fountain  from  which  the  intelligence  of  this  community 
flows.  Now,  I  say  it  boldly,  too,  that  when  an  unedu 
cated  man — a  log-ripper — can  hamper  the  press,  why, 
then  it  is  time  for  intelligent  men  to  take  action.  Let 
me  have  twenty  dollars/' 

"Dockery,"  replied  Len,  as  he  began  to  search  his 
pockets,  "I  have  only  eighteen  dollars.  You  are  wel 
come  to  what  I've  got." 

"The  sum  is  quite  sufficient,  my  dear  boy,  quite  suffi 
cient.  I  will  pay  the  oppressor  ten  dollars,  pay  four 
dollars  on  my  office  rent,  and  with  the  remaining  four 
dollars  I  will  lay  in  a  stock  of  paper.  See  that  man?" 
(pointing);  "well,  he's  another  enemy  of  printers'  ink. 
Ever  since  I  started  the  Ticket'  he  has  been  an  adver 
tiser.  In  the  last  issue  of  my  paper  I  thoughtlessly 
placed  another  merchant's  ad.  above  his,  and,  sir,  he 
'kicked' — oh,  he  Tucked'  like  Adam's  off  ox.  I  wouldn't 
have  minded  his  'kicking,'  but  he  ordered  his  advertise 
ment  out.  How  do  people  expect  a  man  to  run  a  paper 
when  advertisers  act  that  way?" 

"You  must  have  advertisements,  I  suppose?"  said 
Len. 

"Must  have,  sir,"  repeated  Dockery.  "Why,  sir,  a 
paper  without  advertisements  is  a  pretence!  I  wouldn't 
let  such  a  sheet  come  into  my  house.  Advertisements 


LEN  GANSETT.  81 

are  the  ballast,  while  the  fading  matter  are  the  sails. 
Without  advertisements  a  paper  flops  and  flounders  like 
a  wounded  fish — does,  damned  if  it  don't!" 

"Say,  Dockery,  is  it  true  that  Andy  Tillotson  has 
been  arrested  on  a  charge  of  stealing  a  cow?" 

"Well,  the  report  is  substantially  true.  Andy  has 
been  arrested.  Why,  sir,  if  any  man  had  told  me  that 
Andy  was  a  thief  I  would  have  disputed  the  assertion 
with  all  the  vigor  of  a  strong  nature.  Do  you  know  what 
that  fellow  did?  He  headed  my  subscription  list.  He 
renewed  his  subscription  the  other  day;  but  now  that 
he's  in  hock  I  don't  suppose  that  I'll  ever  get  the  money. 
That's  the  trouble  in  running  a  newspaper,  Gansett. 
You  never  know  when  a  subscriber  is  going  to  die  or  be 
taken  to  jail." 

"Why,  don't  you  engage  in  other  business,  Dockery, 
if  so  many  ills  attend  a  newspaper?" 

"Len,  it  is  simply  this:  I  am  not  fitted  for  any  other 
business.  When  a  man  masters  the  intricacies  of  one 
calling  he  cannot,  in  middle  age-,  turn  his  attention  to 
a  calling  with  which  he  is.  unfamiliar." 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  the  newspaper  business?" 
Len  asked. 

"Let  me  see.  It  will  soon  be  three  years  since  I  be 
came  a  professional." 

"What  had  you  followed  previous  to  that  time?" 

"Law,  Gansett,  law;  but  I  must  say  I  did  not  like  it. 
Oh,  law  is  very  good  for  some  people>  the  groove  man 
for  instance;  but  it  is  obnoxious  to  the  man  who  yearns 
to  break  away — to  tear  asunder  dust-covered  strings  and 
to  soar  among  the  clouds  of  grand  gloom  and  sublime 


82  LEN  GANSETT. 

brightness.  In  law  a  man  must  linger  in  a  starvation 
state  until  some  older  lawyer  takes  him  up.  Then  he 
enters  the  office  of  the  older  lawyer,  does  much  tedious 
writing,  does  legal  drudgery,  and  receives  just  enough 
of  the  profits  to  enable  him  to  have  his  breeches  skilfully 
patched.  That's  law,  Gansett.  I  don't  know  how  it 
strikes  other  people,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  a  young 
lawyer's  coat  can  get  slicker  than  a  similar  garment  be 
longing  to  any  other  man.  The  young  doctor  is  pretty 
hard  to  beat,  but  I  think  he  must  yield  first  place  to  the 
young  lawyer.  Say,  Gansett,  come  and  take  dinner  with 
me.  I  board  over  at  that  weather-boarded  house.  Come 
on!  Say,  one  word  before  you  go.  My  landlady  is  a  very 
peculiar  woman.  She  mutters  about  men  that  OAVC  her. 
Sometimes  I  think  that  she  is  losing  her  mind.  Do  you 
know  a  move  she's  going  to  make.  She's  going  to  refuse 
to  allow  me  credit  for  my  three  days  in  jail.  Yes,  she 
will  do  it  as  sure  as  I'm  a  living  man;  but  do  you  know 
how  I'll  get  even  with  her  ?  I'll  make  her  wait  for  what 
I  owe  her." 

Malone  was  speedily  brought  to  trial.  He  attempted 
no  defence,  only  claiming  that  he  had  not  committed 
murder;  that  his  action  was  impulsive  instead  of  pre- 
meditative.  The  facts  as  brought  out  by  the  examina 
tion  of  men  who  had  witnessed  the  quarrel  at  the  log 
rolling,  and  the  facts  as  given  by  Dockery  and  old  Buck, 
tended  to  brand  Malone  as  a  murderer;  yet,  with  unjust 
lenity,  he  was  only  sentenced  to  a  term  of  three  years  in 
the  penitentiary.  The  next  day  Andy  Tillotson,  con 
victed  of  stealing  a  cow,  was  sentenced  to  a  term  of  five 
years. 


LEN  GANSETT.  83 

"Well,  have  you  got  through  with  that  good-fer- 
nothin'  gran'  jury  business?"  said  Mrs.  Gansett  one 
evening  when  old  Bob  and  Len  returned  home. 

"Yas,  I  reckon  I  am." 

"I  hope  so,"  Mrs.  Gansett  replied.  "It  do  seem  that 
thar's  allus  som'thin'  to  take  a  body  away  from  home. 
It's  awful  cold,"  she  added  as  she  shoved  a  dry  board 
between  the  logs  in  the  fireplace.  "I  know  you  air  mos' 
froze.  Len,  child,  put  your  feet  out  there  an'  warm  'em. 
Bob,  there's  a  hole  in  your  shoe.  Wall,  for  pity  sake! 
Jes  look  at  it.  Len,  I  had  a  visitor  to-day, — little  Ned 
Hobdy.  It's  foolish  to  say  it,  I  know,  but  I  would  give 
anything  if  that  child  was  my  daughter.  I  never  saw 
such  a  swee't  child  as  she  is.  Jes'  to  think  how  she  takes 
care  o'  her  father.  I  knowed  they  hadn't  nothin'  much 
to  eat  in  the  house — " 

"Where  have  they  got  it  to  eat  if  they  haven't  got  it 
to  eat  in  the  house?"  old  Bob  asked,  slyly  winking  at 
his  grandson. 

"Goodness  gracious!"  vociferated  the  old  lady. 
"Kain't  a  body  say  a  word  without  bein'  picked  up? 
As  I  was  goin'  to  say,  I  knowed  they  hadn't  much  to  eat, 
so  I  offered  the  child  a  pone  o'  co'n  light  bread  an' 
some  meat,  but  do  you  think  she  wanted  to  take  the 
vidults?  I  could  hardly  persuade  her.  Poor  child,  it's 
a  pity  an'  a  shame  that  she  ain't  better  off.  Whut  did 
you  fetch?"  noticing  a  tin  pail  which  old  Bob  had  placed 
on  the  table. 

"We  stopped  by  Mort  Haney's,"  the  old  man  replied, 
"an*  Miz  Haney  made  me  take  a  mess  o'  chitterlin's." 


84  LEN  GANSETT. 

""Wall/'  said  the  old  lady,  "I'm  much,  obleeged  to  her. 
Did  you  thank  her?" 

"I  don't  rekerlect." 

"You  don't?  Wall,  for  pity  sake,  Bob,  have  you  lost 
all  your  perlitness?  Len,  did  he  thank  her?" 

"Yes,  grandma." 

"Well,  then.  I  declare  to  goodness  your  gran'pap  is 
gettin'  so  keerless  that  he  distresses  me.  Bob,  befo'  I 
forget  it  let  me  tell  you  that  a  fetch-taked  dog  scratched 
a  hole  under  the  smoke-house  and  toted  off  a  midlin'  o' 
meat." 

"He  must've  been  hungry,"  old  man  Gansett  replied, 
with  another  sly  wink  at  Len. 

"Wall,  fur  pity  sake,  Bob,  is  that  all  the  thanks  a  body 
gits  fur  tellin'  you.  Len,  mighty  little  comfort  a  body 
gits  outen  your  gran'pap.  Supper  is  ready  if  you  have 
warmed  yourselves." 

"Isn't  it  ready,  anyway?" 

"0  Bob,  for  goodness'  sake,  hush!  Come  on.  Len, 
light  the  other  candle." 


LEN  GANSETT.  85 


X. 

A  DEEP  snow,  the  deepest  that  many  of  the  oldest 
inhabitants  had  ever  seen,  lay  on  the  ground.  The  air 
was  keen  and  crisp,  and  the  sun  shone  as  brightly  as 
though  springtime  had  come. 

"What,"  said  Mrs.  Gansett,  entering  the  sittingroom, 
approaching  the  fire  and  holding  her  hands  over  the 
blaze,  "you  ain't  goin'  out  sich  a  day  as  this,  air  you?" 

Len  had  drawn  on  an  overcoat,  and  was  putting  on 
a  pair  of  mittens.  "Yes,"  he  replied,  "I  thought  that 
I'd  take  a  stroll." 

"W'y,  gracious  me,  you'll  freeze!  It's  mighty  nice 
overhead,  but  it's  awful  under  foot." 

"Grandpa  has  been  out  nearly  all  day." 

"There's  no  accountin'  fur  your  gran'pap,  Len.  It 
do  seem  to  me,"  the  old  lady  continued,  as  she  turned 
the  churn  around,  "that  he's  been  out  in  every  spell  o' 
weather  that  has  come  along  sense  we  was  married.  In 
the  spring  an'  summer  he  ain't  satisfied  unless  he's  drip- 
pin'  wet,  an'  in  the  fall  an'  winter  he  'peers  ter  be  on 
tho'ns  till  he  goes  out  an'  gits  mos'  froze.  Air  you 
goin'  a-huntin'?" 

"No,  I  am  merely  going  out  for  a  walk.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  thought  that  I'd  go  over  to  old  man 
Hobdy's.  I  have  never  seen  Ned's  father,  and  I  am 
curious  to  meet  him." 

"Wall,"  said  Mrs.  Gansett,  as  Len  turned  toward  the 
door,  "you'll  meet  a  Tartar,  as  sho's  you're  bornd." 


86  LEN  GANSETT. 

Len,  after  receiving  directions  as  minute  as  the  old 
lady  could  give,  set  out  through  the  trackless  woods. 
He  crossed  the  river  on  the  ice,  not  foregoing  a  few  boy 
ish  capers  as  he  did  so.  He  had  climbed  over  a  fence, 
and  had  started  across  a  "small  field,  when  some  one 
shouted  to  him.  He  looked  back  and  saw  a  man  ap 
proaching. 

"You  don't  seem  to  know  me  with  these  trappings 
on." 

"I  do  now,"  said  Len,  extending  his  hand.  "Colonel 
Bently,  how  are  you?" 

"First-rate.  This  weather  makes  me  young  again. 
Which  way?" 

"Thought  I'd  go  over  to  old  man  Hobdy's." 

"Better  come  with  me.  There's  a  turkey  and  a  lot 
of  quail  waiting  for  me,  and  I  don't  know  that  you 
could  do  better  than  to  come  and  share  them  with  me." 

"No,  thank  you,  colonel;  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
go  to  Hobdy's." 

"That's  nothing.  Come  with  me.  I  have  just  un 
packed  some  old  books  that  my  grandfather,  many  years 
ago,  bought  of  an  old  second-hand  book-dealer.  Several 
of  them  reach  as  far  back  as  1640.  There  is  one  partic 
ularly  in  which  you  would  find  interest.  It  is  entitled 
'A  Quiet  Eest  for  Good  Men's  Souls,  and  a  Terrible 
Warning  to  Men  whose  Minds  are  Steeped  in  Sin  and 
Iniquity/  There  are  also  several  political  tracts,  one  of 
which,  it  is  thought,  was  written  by  Milton.  Now, 
what  do  you  say?" 

"The  temptation  is  great,  colonel;  but  like  the  boy 
who  is  resolved  not  to  go  to  the  brook,  but,  in  spite  of 


LEN   GANSET'l.  87 

all  allurements,  goes  to  Sunday  school,  I  must  keep  in 
the  road  of  previous  intention.  At  an  early  day,  how 
ever,  you  will  find  me  handling  your  musty  treasures. 
Where  have  you  been  out  this  way?"  Len  asked,  hoping 
to  change  the  subject,  for,  although  he  greatly  desired  to 
see  the  little  girl  and  her  father,  he  felt  that  the  per 
suasive  colonel,  should  he  persist,  might  gain  his  point. 

"I  have  been  out  to  Dogwood.  With  more  compas 
sion  for  my  horse  than  consideration  for  myself  I 
decided  to  walk.  Horses  in  this  country  get  along  badly 
in  the  snow.  By  the  way,  I  will  tell  you  why  I  went. 
Honeycut  sent  me  word  that  he  had  captured  one  of  the 
stage-robbers.  This  was,  indeed,  a  welcome  piece  of 
news;  but  when  I  saw  the  suspected  man  I  was  convinced 
of  his  innocence,  that  is,  so  far  as  the  robbery  is  con 
cerned.  I  found  a  miserable,  shrinking  tramp,  a  fellow 
with  hunger  enough  to  steal,  but  with  not  enough 
courage  to  rob.  He  looked  as  though  he  were  about  to 
be  hanged,  and  when  I  gave  him  five  dollars,  and  told 
him  that  he  was  free,  he  looked  at  me  in  bewilderment, 
burst  into  tears,  and  hurried  away.  So  Mr.  Malone  has 
gone  to  the  penitentiary.  The  gallows  would  have  been 
more  befitting.  I  suppose  you  noticed  how  lightly  he 
got  off  and  how  severely  the  law  took  hold  of  Tillotson. 
It  is  nearly  always  the  way  in  this  country.  The  jury 
looks  with  commiseration  on  the  man  who  sheds  blood, 
but  frowns  darkly  upon  the  thief.  The  leading  men  of 
the  country  censure  this;  they  condemn  it  in  unmeasured 
terms;  but  let  a  Northern  newspaper  affirm  it,  and  they 
denounce  the  paper  as  a  slanderous  sheet." 

<r5Tes,"  Len  replied,  "because  they  know  that  the 


88  LEN  GANSETT. 

Northern  paper  does  not  speak  of  it  in  the  desire  to 
bring  about  a  reform,  but  uses  it  as  a  political  lever. 
The  law  is  not  enforced  in  the  North  much  better  than 
it  is  in  the  South,  Blood  may  be  cheap  in  the  South, 
but  in  the  North  human  life  is  sold  at  wholesale.  The 
rich  proprietor  of  a  great  mill  looks  without  feeling  upon 
the  women  and  children  who  are  wearing  out  their  lives 
in  his  service.  He  needs  not  say  that  he  cannot  better 
their  condition.  He  can  well  afford  to  pay  them  more  for 
less  work.  Does  he  help  the  poor  consumptive  who  is 
dying  at  his  loom?  No,  he  assists  in  getting  up  a  charity 
ball,  which,  after  the  expenses  are  paid,  leaves  but  little 
for  the  suffering  widows  and  the  starving  children.  He 
assists  in  getting  up  the  ball,  not  because  he  is  desirous 
of  relieving  distress,  but  because  he  knows  that  the 
newspapers  will  praise  his  generosity.  The  fashionable 
woman  dances  while  the  starving  woman  waits  for  some 
thing  to  eat." 

"Why,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  colonel,  "you  are  get 
ting  very  warm  for  a  man  who  is  trudging  through  the 
snow.  You  almost  make  me  think  that  we  are  in  a 
harvest  field.  Is  not  that  a  shock  of  wheat?  Oh,  no, 
it  is  only  a  stump  covered  with  snow.  You  observe  that 
my  eyesight  is  not  so  good  as  it  used  to  be.  Ah,  I  have 
made  you  laugh!  I  do  not  like  to  see  you  so  serious,  for 
then  you  look  like  an  old  man.  Leu,  it  is  useless  to 
discuss  the  evils  of  our  time.  They  are  many,  they  are 
powerful,  and  cannot  be  corrected  except  by  those  who 
practise  them." 

"And  to  them,"  said  Len,  "we  need  not  look  for  cor 
rection." 


LEN  GANSETT.  89 

"You  are  right.  Thank  God  that  I  have  never  op 
pressed  any  one.  Say,  do  not  the  people  of  this  com 
munity  amuse  you?" 

"Yes,  I  find  in  them  an  interesting  study/' 

"I  know  you  do.  When  I  go  to  church,  or  any  public 
gathering,  I  am  always  entertained  by  what  I  hear.  In 
the  city  we  find  slang;  here  we  find  an  expressive  dialect. 
I  would  like  to  know  the  origin  of  some  of  the  words 
I  hear.  The  other  day  I  heard  Mort  Haney  in  speaking 
of  striking  a  negro,  say,  (I  didn't  faze  him.'  When  you 
think  of  it,  'faze'  is  an  expressive  term.  Then,  again, 
there  is  the  word  'momox/  meaning  to  execute  badly. 
The  first  time  I  ever  heard  it,  Honeycut  used  it  in  tell 
ing  me  that  he  had  hired  a  negro  to  bottom  a  chair, 
but  that  he  had  'momoxed'  it.  Your  grandparents  use 
many  words  that  amuse  me,  but  I  notice  that  their 
dialect  is  a  little  different  from  that  of  many  of  the 
people.  At  first  I  did  not  understand  the  cause,  but  I 
soon  learned  that  it  is  because  they  are  from  Tennessee. 
I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  that  they  introduced  the 
word  'momox.'  I  tell  you  this  is  tiresome  walking.  Let 
us  sit  on  the  fence  and  rest  a  while." 

They  had  crossed  the  field.  Len  turned  over  a  rail 
to  knock  the  snow  off,  and  the  colonel,  thanking  him  for 
his  consideration,  climbed  up  and  seated  himself. 

"Do  you  know,  Len,  that  these  people  are  now  glad 
that  the  war  terminated  as  it  did?" 

"I  have  not  heard  many  of  them  express  themselves, 
but  I  think  that  they  are." 

"They  are,  sir,  without  a  doubt.  They  no^  know  that 
had  the  Confederacy  succeeded  in  establishing  itself 


90  LEN  GANSETT. 

they  could  have  hoped  for  nothing  better  than  social 
slavery.  They  know  that  the  slave-owner  would  be 
supreme,  and  that  a  poor  man  would  be  looked  upon 
with  contempt.  If  Congress  should  now  grant  to  the 
Southern  States  the  right  to  go  out  of  the  Union,  not 
one  of  them  would  go  out.  Have  you  ever  thought  of 
the  lenity  with  which  the  leaders  of  the  rebellion  were 
treated?" 

"The  history  of  the  world  furnishes  no  parallel," 
Len  replied. 

"You  are  right,  my  dear  boy.  'The  man  who  leads  a 
rebellion  against  an  established  government,'  says 
Macaulay,  'stakes  his  life  on  the  event;'  but  it  was  not 
the  case  in  this  country.  Do  you  know  why?" 

"Yes,"  said  Len;  "it  is  because  th'e  American  people 
are  the  most  humane  people  in  the  world." 

"You  are  right.  Although  I  was  born  in  England — 
came  to  this  country  when  I  was  quite  young — yet  I 
agree  with  you.  I  believe  that  it  was  Carlyle  who  said 
that  a  nation  or  people  who  borrowed  its  language  from 
another  nation  could  never  be  truly  great;  but  I  differ 
from  him." 

"The  Americans  did  not  borrow  their  language,"  Len 
replied.  "The  men  who  left  England  and  came  to  this 
country  brought  their  mother-tongue  with  them.  It 
was  their  language,  and  they  had  a  right  to  leave  it  to 
their  children;  so  I  think  the  English  language  is  as 
much  the  inherent  right  of  this  country  as  it  is  of  Eng 
land.  Well,  colonel,"  Len  added,  as  he  got  off  the  fence, 
"I  must  proceed." 

"Won't  go  home  with  me?" 


LEN  GANSETT.  91 

"No,  not  to-day." 

Len  left  the  colonel  sitting  on  the  fence.  When  he 
had  gone  some  distance  he  looked  back,  and  saw  his 
friend  reading  a  newspaper  with  as  much  contentment, 
it  seemed,  as  though  he  were  sitting  in  his  library.  Len 
experienced  some  difficulty  in  finding  Hobdy's  house, 
but  at  length  he  unexpectedly  came  upon  it.  Ned  was 
chopping  wood  in  the  yard.  Len  climbed  over  the 
fence  and  approached  within  a  few  feet  of  her  before  she 
saw  him. 

"Wall,  ef  this  ain't  er  come  off,"  she  said,  throwing 
down  the  axe. 

"Why,  my  little  girl,  what  are  you  trying  to  do?" 

"Ain't  tryin'  ter  do  nothin'.    Jes  doin'  it,  that's  all." 

"Let  me  chop  it  for  you/'  said  Len,  taking  the  axe. 

"Wall,  but  hurry  up,  fur  ther  fire  is  almost  out  an' 
dad's  got  his  pains  bigger'n  er  mule.  Yistid'y  he  walked 
all  er  roun',  but  he's  snatched  ter-day." 

"Now,  let  me  take  it  in  for  you,"  said  Len,  when  he 
had  chopped  several  sticks  of  wood. 

"Wall,  but  let  me  go  in  fust,  fur  ef  yer  wuz  ter  s'prise 
dad  he  mout  cuss  yer.  He's  the  cussenest  man  yer  ever 
seed  when  he's  got  his  pains." 

Len  followed  the  girl.  "Dad,"  said  Ned,  as  she  step 
ped  into  the  room  where  the  old  man  sat,  "here's  Mr. 
Len." 

"Damn  Mr.  Len!"  roared  the  old  man. 

"Don't  pay  no  'tention  ter  him,"  said  the  girl,  "for 
he's  got  his  pains.  Wait  till  I  rake  up  ther  chucks  an' 
then  put  ther  wood  on  ther  fire.  That's  it,"  she  added, 
when  Len  had  followed  her  directions. 


92  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Damn  yer/'  cried  the  old  man;  "don't  kick  yer  foot 
ag'in'  my  leg." 

"I  won't/'  said  Len. 

"Wall,  ef  I  hadenter  throw'd  out  er  hint  yer  would." 

"No,  I  wouldn't.    I  am  very  careful." 

"Yas,  damn  keerful." 

"Dad,  don't  cuss.  Mr.  Len,  ther  bad  man  is  goin't  ter 
git  dad  ef  he  don't  look  out.  W'y,  this  mawnin/  while 
I  wuz  out  in  ther  yard  he  come  erlong  an'  put  his  elbows 
on  ther  fence,  an'  says,  'Whar's  that  man  that  cusses  so?' 
'He's  dun  gone,'  I  said,  'an'  yer  neenter  come  here  airter 
'im.'  Then  he  wenter  way  an'  hain't  been  back  sence. 
Mr.  Len,  set  en  this  cheer,  fur  that'n'll  spill  yer." 

Old  man  Hobdy  looked  at  Len  and  said: — 

"Ned  'lowed  yer  wa'n't  stuck  up.'' 
"Well.  I'm  not,  I  hope,  Mr.  Hobdy." 

"Mr.  ther  Devil,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  scowled 
and  with  a  jerk  drew  up  one  of  his  legs.  "I  don't  know 
whut  yer've  got  to  be  stuckup  erbout.  Ef  it  wa'n't  fur 
yer  gran'daddy  yer'b  be  as  pore  as  er  June  rabbit." 

"Dad,"  said  Ned,  as  she  approached  the  old  man  and 
put  her  hands  on  his  head,  "don't  scold  Mr.  Len,  fur 
look  at  ther  nice  wood  he  fotch  in  fur  yer." 

"Who  'n  hell's  scoldin'  him?" 

"Thar,  dad,  fur  pity  sake  don't  cuss." 

"Who  could  he'p  cussin'  when  thar  ain't  nothin'  ter 
eat  in  ther  house?" 

"Yas,  thar  is,  dad;  thar's  ther  turkey.  Oh,  let  me  tell 
yer,  Mr.  Len!  This  mawnin'  when  I  went  out  ter  feed 
ther  cow  whut  did  I  see  but  er  gre't  big  turkey  er  settin' 
on  the  low  limb  uv  er  tree.  I  knowd  that  dad  couldn't 


LEN  GANSETT.  93 

shoot  him  'cause  he  had  his  pains,  so  I  slipped  in  ther 
house,  got  ther  gun,  slipped  out,  put  it  on  ther  fence, 
tuck  aim  jes'  thiser  way,  shet  my  eyes  an*  pulled.  Bang 
went  ther  gun,  an'  then  ter  flop,  flop,  flop,  ther  old  tur 
key  fell.  I  gethered  him  up  an'  fotch  him  ter  ther  house 
an'  scalded  him  an'  picked  him,  an'  I'm  goin'  ter  cook 
him,  an'  airter  all  that  dad  says  thar  ain't  nothin'  ter 
eat  in  ther  house." 

"I  didn't  think  erbout  that,"  the  old  man  replied. 

"But  he  oughter  think  erbout  sich  things,  oughtn't 
he,  Mr.  Len?" 

"I  should  think  so,"  Len  ventured  to  reply. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  a  fierce  glance  and 
replied,  "Yer  don't  know  whut  ther  hell  yer'd  think." 

"Thar,  he's  cussin'  ergin,"  said  ther  girl.  "Le's  run 
erway  an'  leave  him,  Mr.  Len.  We  kain't  stay  with 
people  that  cusses.  One  time  there  wuz  er  man  that 
cussed  an'  cussed,  an'  ther  bad  man — " 

"Damn  ther  bad  man!" 

"Dad,  fur  goodness  sake,  hush,"  she  said,  as  she 
smoothed  back  his  hair.  "Don't  pay  no  'tention  ter  him, 
Mr.  Len,  fur  I  know  his  pains  must  be  awful." 

"Yer  don't  know  er  blame  thing  erbout  it.  Git  erway 
an'  let  my  ha'r  erlone,"  the  old  man  vociferated.  "Yer 
air  allus  tellin'  whut  yer  know,  an'  yer  don't  know 
nothin'  at  last.  Git  erway." 

She  patted  his  rough  cheek  and  then  sat  down. 

Len  looked  at  her  admiringly.  "You  are  a  noble  little 
girl,"  he  could  not  help  saying. 

"I  don't  know  what  that  is,"  she  said;  "but  ef  you  say 
I  am,  I  hope  I  am." 


94  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

"Ned."  said  the  old  man,  "take  ther  shovel  an'  throw 
some  ov  ther  coals  on  top,  an'  ther  fire'll  burn  better." 

"Bless  me,  I  left  ther  shovel  out  yander!"  I'll  git  it 
in  er  minit." 

She  darted  out  of  the  house.  The  old  man  turned  to 
Len  and  said,  "She  left  ther  shovel  under  ther  apple- 
tree — ther  only  one  on  the  place — whar  her  mother  is 
buried.  When  er  snow  falls  Ned  allus  shovels  it  offen 
ther  grave.  In  ther  summer  time  she  allus  keeps  flowers 
on  the  grave,  an'  yer  mer  go>  thar  right  now  an'  yer'll 
find  pieces  uv  dishes  an'  bits  of  nice-lookin'  pieces  uv 
rags  whut  ther  neighbors  have  give  her.  In  ther  night 
when  it  sleets  she  talks  erbout  it,  an'  I've  knowed  her 
the  coldes'  night  that  ever  blowed  ter  git  outen  bed  an' 
kiver  that  grave  with  planks.  Confound  this  infernal 
damned  thing  ter  ther  all-fired  devil!"  he  howled,  draw 
ing  up  his  legs.  "Wush  I  wuz  in  hell."  He  writhed  in 
his  chair  and  cursed. 

"Can't  you  do  nothing  for  it?"  Len  asked  not  know 
ing  what  else  to  say. 

The  old  man  turned  upon  him  with  a  scowl.  "Do 
any  thin  fur  it!"  he  yelled.  "W'y,  damn  your  skin,  do 
yer  think  I'd  set  here  in  misery  ef  I  could  do  anything 
fur  it!  Yer  talk  like  yer'd  lost  whut  little  sense  yer  ever 
did  have.  Do  anything  tur  it,  ther  devil!" 

"I  merely—" 

"Yer  merely  talk  like  er  fool,  that's  whut  yer  merely 
do." 

"Now,  dad,  I'll  fix  it,"  said  Ned,  as  she  bounded  into 
the  room. 

"Wall,  but  confound  it,  don't  shake  ther  house  down." 


LEN  GANSETT.  95 

"Let  me  attend  to  it,"  said  Len,  as  he  took  the  shovel. 
"How  long  have  you  had  rheumatism,  Mr.  Hobdy?"  he 
asked,  when  he  had  thrown  up  the  coals  and  stood  the 
shovel  against  the  wall. 

"How  long  has  Adam  been  dead?"  he  ejaculated. 

"Well,"  said  Len,  smiling  at  Ned,  "the  best  authori 
ties  agree  that  he  has  been  dead  several  years." 

"Well,  then  ther  best  erthorities  ergree  that  I've  had 
the  rheumatiz  ever  since  I  tuck  sick.  Sometimes  I  think 
that  I  wuz  bornd  with  it.  It  strikes  me  all  uv  a  sudden 
an'  it  leaves  me  thater  way.  My  legs  don't  swell  none, 
yer  see.  This  last  spell  has  been  a  putty  tough  one. 
Arter  while  it'll  hit  my  heart,  an'  then  Ned  can  put 
things  on  my  grave." 

"Dad,  please  don't  talk  thater  way/' 

"Wall,  it  will,  an'  whut's  ther  use'n  gittin'  out'n  it. 
Thar,  it's  easin'  down.  I  tell  yer,  Mr.  Gansett,  it's  awful. 
Er  man  ken  suffer  tell  he  ain't  £ot  no  sense.  Thank 
God,"  he  added,  as  he  stretched  his  legs,  "it's  goin' 
erway.  Neddie,  thar's  some  blackberry  cordial  up  thar 
in  the  cubbo'd.  Give  Mr.  Gansett  some  of  it." 

"No,  thank  you,"  Len  replied;  "I  never  drink  any 
thing." 

"It  won't  hurt  yer,  sir.    Yer  gran'maw  made  it." 

"I  don't  doubt  its  excellence,  but  I  do  not  care  for 
any." 

"Then  give  me  a  swallow  uv  it,  Ned.  No,  never  mind. 
I  am  well  enough  off  without  it.  I  am  glad  to  see  yer, 
Mr.  Gansett,  an'  I  hope  yer'll  make  yerse'f  at  home.  We 
ain't  well  fixed  fur  entertainin'  uv  comp'ny,  but  as  yer 
air  not  stuck  up  yer  air  willin'  ter  make  'lowances.  Ned- 


96  LEN  GANSETT. 

die,  dear,  it's  erbout  time  yer  wuz  gittin'  suthin'  ter  eat, 
fur  I  reckon  Mr.  Gansett  is  haungry.  We  cook  an'  eat 
in  here,  as  we  hain't  got  no  uther  place." 

"I'm  not  hungry,"  Len  replied. 

"Oh,  but  yer  must  eat  with  us,"  ISTed  declared.  "It 
never  would  do  ter  let  yer  go  erway  without  eatin' 
nothin'.  I'll  cut  off  some  uv  ther  turkey  an'  fry  it. 
Won't  that  be  nice,  dad?" 

"Fust-rate.  Mr.  Gansett,  thar  hain't  nuthin'  like  tur 
key  steak — 'specially  wild  turkey." 

"Dad,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  took  down  a  skillet,  "I'm 
awful  glad  yer  pains  have  went  away,  for,"  she  added, 
with  a  mischievous  smile,  "the  bad  man  wuz  jest  erbout 
ter  grab  yer." 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  97 


XI. 

As  Len  was  returning  home  from  his  visit  to  the 
Hobdys  he  came  upon  Braley,  the  leader  of  log-rollings 
and  active  enterprises  where  collaboration  is  entered 
into  with  such  heartiness  by  accommodating  neighbors. 
Mr.  Braley  was  in  the  woods  near  his  house,  chopping 
down  saplings. 

"W'y,  hello,  Mr.  Gansett!  I  didn't  hardly  reco'nize 
yer,"  said  Braley,  as  Len  approached  him.  "How  air 
yer  gittin'  erlong?"  he  added  when  he  and  Len  had 
shaken  hands. 

"Very  well,"  Len  replied,  as  he  held  his  hands  over 
a  smoking  fire  which  Braley  had  made.  "Pretty  bad 
time  to  cut  wood,  isn't  it,  Braley?" 

"It  ain't  ther  bes'  time  in  the  worl',  lemme  tell  yer, 
'specially  with  er  axe  so  dull  that  yer  could  ride  ter  mill 
on  its  aidge.  I  woulder  got  upborne  wood  tuther  day, 
but  I  went  over  to  help  old  Austin  put  up  a  stable,  so 
ther  cold  snap  an'  snow  cotch  me  with  my  coat  off.  I 
woulder  chopped  some  late  yisdity  evenin*  airter  I  got 
back  home,  but  I  had  ter  go  over  to  Dogwood  airter  er 
ha'fer  bushel  uv  meal." 

"Ho,  Buck!"  called  an  ungentle  voice. 

"Aho,  I'm  er-comin'.  He  turned  to  Len  and  said: 
"Wush  yer'd  git  under  one  eend  uv  this  pole.  Wife  she's 
awful  fidgety  when  she's  in  er  hurry." 

Len  assisted  him.    "Now,"  said  Braley,  when  the  pole 


98  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

was  thrown  down  in  the  yard,  "I've  got  ter  chop  it  up  in 
len'ths.  Go  in  ther  house  an'  I'll  be  in  d'reckly." 

"No,  I  don't  care  to  go  in.    Haven't  time." 

"Better  go  in  an'  git  er  snack,  fur  yer'll  be  haungry 
ergin  yer  git  home." 

Mrs.  Braley,  with  a  soiled  rag  tied  over  her  head, 
came  out.  She  nodded  at  Len,  turned  and  shook  off  a 
child  that  clung  to  her  skirts,  and  said  to  her  husband: — • 

"Hurry  up,  fur  ther  fire  is  mighty  nigh  out." 

"Am  er-hurryin'  jest  as  fast  as  ever  I  ken." 

"Don't  'pear  like  it.  Mr.  Gansett,  won't  yer  come 
in?" 

"No,  thank  you;  I  haven't  time." 

Mrs.  Braley  slightly  wrinkled  her  long,  keen  nose, 
sniffed  the  air,  and  said,  "Men  allus  have  time.  It's 
ther  wimmen  that  ain't  got  time  fur  nothin'.  I  know  er 
man  that  ain't  got  time  ter  git  up  er  little  dab  a'  wood 
when  he  sees  er  snowstorm  er-comin',  but  he's  got  time 
ter  go  'way  from  home  an'  piddle  erroun'  all  day." 
Braley  looked  reproachfully  at  her.  She  sniffed  the  air 
and  continued:  "Ther  good  book  may  say  that  man 
e'rhs  whut  he  eats  by  the  sweat  uv  his  brow,  but  it 
oughter  say  by  the  sweat  uv  his  wife's  brow.  Fur  pity 
sake,"  sharply  turning  upon  her  husband,  "ain't  yer 
never  goin'  ter  git  that  stick  cut  in  two?" 

"Don't  yer  see  that  I'm  hackin'  just  as  fast  as  ever 
I  ken?  Give  er  body  time,  won't  yer?  Ole  axe  is  as 
dull  as  er  froe." 

"Why  don't  yer  grind  it,  then?" 

"Whut's  the  use'n  grindin'  it  when  you  an*  ther 
chillun  take  an'  souse  it  in  ther  groun'?" 


LEN  GANSETT.  99 

"Wall,  ef  we  didn't  use  it  thar'd  be  mighty  little  fire 
on  ther  place." 

"Wall,  wall,  fur  ther  Lord's  sake,  hush." 

"Who  yer  talkin'  to?"  she  demanded.  "Til  give  yer 
ter  know  that  yer  kain't  tell  me  ter  hush." 

Braley  did  not  reply.  He  threw  down  his  axe,  took  up 
the  wood  which  he  had  cut  and  went  into  the  house. 

"Won't  yer  stay  an'  git  er  snack?"  Mrs.  Braley  asked 
when  Len,  bidding  her  good-evening,  turned  to  go  away. 

"No,  I  thank  you." 

"Wall,  yer  needn't  think  we  ain't  got  nuthin'  ter 
eat." 

"I  don't  think  that,  I  assure  you." 

"Wall,  I  tell  yer  whut  I  wush  yer'd  do:  wush  yer'd 
tell  yer  gran'maw  ter  save  me  a  settin'  uv  turkey  aigs. 
I  had  a  fine  chance  uv  young  turkeys  last  spring,  but 
the  varments  got  in  amongst  'em  an*  took  'em  boda- 
tiously  off." 

"All  right,  I'll  tell  her." 

"Whut,  yer  ain't  goin'?"  said  Braley,  appearing  in 
the  doorway. 

"Yes,  I  must  go." 

"Wait  till  I  git  in  a  little  mo'  wood  an*  I'll  go  with 
yer." 

"Yer*!!  not  do  no  sich  uv  er  thing/'  Mrs.  Braley  snap 
ped.  "All  you  study  erbout  is  er  chance  ter  git  erway 
from  home.  I  spize  ter  see  er  man  allus  wantin'  ter  gad 
erbout.  Here  I  haven't  put  my  foot  offen  ther  place 
fur  nigh  on  ter  six  months,  an'  nobody  ever  tells  me  ter 
go  an'  enjoy  myself.  I  don't  want  ter  hurry  yer  off,  Mr. 


100  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

Gansett,  but  ef  yer  air  waitin'  fur  him  yer  mout  as  well 
go  erlong." 

Braley  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  face,  took  up  his 
axe,  and  with  revengeful  vigor  attacked  a  stick  of  wood. 
Len  turned  away,  and  had  gone  but  a  short  distance 
when  he  was  overtaken  by  one  of  Braley's  boys. 

"Say,  thar." 

Len  stopped  and  said,  "Well,  what  is  it?" 

"Pap  says  come  over  ter-mor'  an  he'll  slip  erway  an* 
an*  go  er-huntin'  with  yer." 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  can  come  or  not." 

"Better  come,  fur  he  'lows  that  he  knows  whar  er  ole 
buck  uses.  Ef  yer  come,  jes'  stop  out  in  ther  woods  an' 
holler.  Mur  is  in  her  tantrums,  pap  'lows,  an'  don't 
want  him  ter  go.  Comin'?" 

"No,  I  believe  not." 

"Hain't  got  no  flat  terbacker  erbout  yer,  I  reckin?" 

"No." 

"S'arch  yerse'f  an*  see." 

"I  know  that  I  haven't,  for  I  don't  chew." 

'Tap  'lowed  ef  yer  have,  he'd  like  ter  have  some." 

"Tell  him  that  I  haven't  any." 

"Wall,  but  when  yer  see  him  ergin  don't  tell  him 
that  I  axed  yer  fur  ther  terbacker,  fur  he  mout  furgit 
that  he  tole  me.  Ef  yer'll  gimme  er  dog  I'll  come  over 
ter  yer  house  some  time." 

"I  have  no  dog." 

"Then  I'll  slip  off  some  time  an'  come  over  ter  yer 
house  anyhow,  fur  when  I  wuz  over  thar  wunst  Miz  Gan- 
sett  give  me  er  gre't  big  hunk  uv  sweet  bread,  an'  it 
wa'n't  sweetened  with  sorghum,  nuther.  Good-by." 


LEN  GANSETT.  101 

When  Len  reached  home  he  found  his  grandparents 
engaged  in  a  religious  discussion.  The  old  couple  were 
members  of  the  same  church,  hut  in  their  established 
creed  there  were  points  upon  which  they  could  not  agree. 
Mrs.  Gansett,  having  suffered  somewhat  during  the  argu 
ment,  appealed  to  Len. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  grandma." 
"W'y,  my  child,  it  is  as  plain  as  daylight." 
"Then  why  does  grandpa  not  agree  with  you?" 
The  old  man  rubbed  his  knees,  a  habit  with  him  when 
he  meditated  mischief.    The  old  lady  replied,  "He  won't 
agree  jes'  because  there  is  so  much  o'  the  fetchtaked  red 
mule  in  him;  that's  why.    He  knows  that  I'm  right." 

"No,  Len,  I'll  tell  you  the  way  of  it,"  said  the  old 
man.  "The  Bible  bears  me  out  in  what  I  say  and  yo' 
grandma  thinks  that  there  is  something  wrong  with  the 
book." 

The  old  lady  looked  searchingly  at  him  to  determine 
whether  or  not  he  were  in  earnest.  The  old  man's  face 
relaxed  not  a  line  of  its  gravity;  and  then  the  old  lady, 
thoroughly  convinced  that  he  was  not  jesting,  sorrow 
fully  said,  "Bob,  I  do  believe  that  you  air  losin'  your 
mind.  You  know  jest  as  well  as  you  know  your  name 
that  I  am  right.  A  man  may  git  religion  away  from  the 
mourner's  bench,  but  the  Bible  don't  say  that  he  kain't 
git  it  at  the  mourner's  bench.  It  grieves  me  to  think 
how  far  away  you  air  driftin'  in  your  ole  age.  I  do 
believe  that  you'd  ruther  frolic  then  to  pray." 

"I'd  rather  laugh  then  to  cry,"  the  old  man  replied. 
"It's  a  pity  that  you  don't  cry  mo'  than  you  do,  good 
ness  knows.    I  don't  mine  seein'  a  body  in  a  good  humor, 


102  LEN  GANSETT. 

but  I  don't  like  to  see  a  body  always  lookin'  out  for 
suthin'  to  snicker  at." 

"Better  do  that,  Sarah,  then  to  search  'roun'  fur  suth 
in'  to  grieve  at." 

"No  you  wouldn't,  no  sich  thing.  The  Saviour  was 
a  man  o'  sorrow  an'  wuz  'quainted  with  grief." 

"Yes,  because  His  mission  was  sorrowful,  yet  with 
all,  He  did  not  command  His  followers  to  mourn.  He 
said,  'Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  Me,'  and  we 
all  know  that  little  children  are  full  of  laughter.  Some 
times  I  think  that  the  preachers  would  have  us  believe 
that  He  wanted  the  children  to  come  unto  Him  so  He 
could  make  'em  hush." 

"Bob  Gansett,"  said  the  old.  lady,  "ain't  you  ashamed 
of  yourself?" 

"I  haven's  said  nothin'  to  be  ashamed  about.  Oh, 
well,  I  was  only  in  fun,  Sarah,"  he  added,  as  an  expres 
sion  of  tenderness  cast  a  warm  glow  over  his  face.  "You 
know  I  wouldn't  hurt  your  feelin's."  He  arose,  ap 
proached  his  wife,  placed  his  hands  on  her  silvery  head, 
leaned  over  and  kissed  her.  She  reached  up  and  put  her 
arms  around  his  neck.  "I  wa'n'n  angry  with  you,  Bob," 
she  said.  "You  know  a  heep  better  than  I  do,  for  you 
have  got  mo'  sense  about  sich  matters." 

"Nonsense,  Sarah.  You've  got  mo'  real  hoss  sense 
an'  jedgment  in  one  minit  than  I  ever  had  in  my  life." 

"I  must  get  up  from  here  and  see  about  gittin'  some- 
thin'  to  eat,"  said  Mrs.  Gansett,  arising.  "That  nigger 
has  been  a  funterin  'round  in  the  kitchen  fur  two  mortal 
hours,  an'  here  it  is  after  dark  an'  we  ain't  got  nothin' 
to  eat  yit.  I  do  know  in  my  soul  that  some  niggers  air 


LEN  Q  AN  SETT.  103 

the  triflin'est  things  on  the  top  side  o'  the  Lord'ell 
mighty's  green  yeth.  Turn  me  loose,  Bob,  fur  I  declare 
I  must  go." 

Old  man  Ganeett  was  much  interested  in  "Bobinson 
Crusoe."  The  book  had  been  in  the  house  during  many 
years,  but  not  until  Len  came  and  took  it  down  from  a 
shelf  in  the  garret  did  the  old  man  know  what  an  enter 
taining  guest  found  shelter  beneath  his  roof.  After 
supper  Len  took  down  the  book.  Mrs.  Gansett  was  also 
much  interested,  but  she  pretended  not  to  be.  She  had 
an  idea  that  "Bobinson  Crusoe"  was  an  ungodly,  at  least 
an  "unchurchly,"  book,  and  sometimes,  after  becoming 
so  absorbed  in  listening  that  her  knitting-needles  ceased 
their  rattle,  she  would  make  recompense  by  suddenly 
getting  up  and  busying  herself  with  turning  the  churn, 
or  hanging  clothes  to  dry  in  front  of  the  fire. 

"Len,"  said  the  old  man,  "turn  back  there  and  read 
again  where  Bobinson  dug  out  that  big  cedar  boat.  You, 
see,  Sarah,  after  workin'  days  and  days  on  the  boat,  he 
found,  when  it  was  done,  that  he  couldn't  git  it  down  to 
the  water.  That  convinces  me  that  the  whole  thing  is 
true,  for  if  it  wa'n't  he'd  'er  got  that  boat  down  to  the 
water  in  less'n  no  time.  I  want  to  get  the  hang  o'  the 
whole  thing  as  I  go  along." 

Len  read  the  chapter  designated  by  the  old  man. 
"Now,  don't  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Gansett,  "that  it's  bound 
to  be  a  fack?  Sarah,  why  don't  you  set  down  the're  now 
an'  lis'n?  You  put  me  in  mine  o'  a  stray  sheep,  that 
don't  know  which  way  to  turn." 

"We'll  all  be  lost  sheep  if  we  fool  away  our  time 
with  sich  books  as  that  'un."  the  old  lady. replied. 


104  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Why  so?  Simply  because  the  feller  ain't  thinkin' 
about  dyin'  an'  ain't  standin'  'roun'  a-snufflin'  ?  It  tells 
about  killin'  goats,  an'  didn't  Esau  kill  goats?  Hah?" 

"He  wa'n't  no  better  by  it  if  he  did/'  Mrs.  Gansett 
replied.  "But  go  on  with  the  readin',  Len/'  she  added; 
"you  ain't  a-botherin'  o'  me." 

"Ef  I  thought  the  thing  wa'n't  true  I'd  fling  it  be 
hind  the  fire,"  said  the  old  man.  "But  it  is  true,  ain't 
it,  Len?" 

"Excuse  me  until  I  get  a  drink  of  water/'  Len  replied. 
He  knew  that  if  he  told  his  gradfather  that  the  book 
was  fiction  the  old  man's  interest  in  the  work  would  be 
gone.  Old  Bob,  Len  knew,  denounced  all  novels  as 
vicious  lies,  and  knew  that  this  great  work  of  the  imagi 
nation,  side  by  side  with  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress"  and 
"Don  Quixote,"  would,  in  Mr.  Gansett's  estimation, 
share  the  fate  of  a  "Sixteen  String  Jack." 

"There  are  many  truths — we  all  know  of  many  that 
are  not  so  reasonable  as  this  book,"  Len  replied,  as  he 
resumed  his  seat.  "We  can  dispute  almost  anything  or 
believe  almost  anything." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  said  the  old  man.  "Go  on  with 
the  readin'.  Well,  for  goodness  sake,  Sarah,  you  ain't 
goin'  to  card  them  bats  to-night,  air  you?"  Mrs.  Gan 
sett  had  taken  down  a  pair  of  cotton  cards.  "Air  you 
determined  to  kill  yourself  at  work?" 

"A  body  has  to  have  quilts,"  Mrs.  Gansett  replied, 
"an'  if  a  body  has  to  have  quilts,  a  body  has  to  card  bats, 
I  reckon." 

"Yes,  but  you've  got  enough  quilts  to  do  you  to-night. 
Nobody's  stold  any  lately,  have  they?" 


LEN  GANSETT.  105 

"Oh,  if  you  don't  want  me  to  card,  I  won't/'  said  Mrs. 
Gansett,  glad  that  she  was  morally  forced  to  relinquish 
her  design.  "Go  on  with  your  reading  Len." 

The  old  man  sat  with  his  head  turned  to  one  side.  A 
boy  could  not  have  listened  more  eagerly  to  a  fairy  tale. 
All  his  previous  reading  had  been  dry  discussions  of 
creed,  the  exhaustive  and  voluminous  research  of  men 
who  knew  how  to  fight  for  theory,  but  who  knew 
not  how  to  touch  that  great  fountain  of  pure  relig 
ion,  the  human  heart.  Mrs.  Gansett  resumed  her  knit 
ting,  but,  after  a  round  or  two,  she  left  one  needle 
sticking  in  her  knitting  "sheth,"  that  old-time,  grand 
motherly  contrivance  made  of  a  goose-quill  and  a  bright 
patch  of  velvet;  and,  forgetful  of  the  duty  which  she 
owed  to  the  "Wages  of  Sin,"  and  similiar  publications, 
gave  herself  up  to  genuine  enjoyment. 

"Hush!"  said  the  old  man,  springing  to  his  feet. 
"What's  that?" 

A  distressing  shriek.  Len  sprang  to  the  door  and 
opened  it. 

"Somebody  at  the  gate,"  said  he.     "It's  a  woman!" 

Mort  Haney's  wife  rushed  into  the  room.  Her  clothes 
were  torn  and  her  hands  were  bleeding. 

"My  gracious!  Miz  Haney,  what's  the  matter?"  old 
Bob  asked  before  any  one  else  could  speak. 

"0  Mr.  Gansett— Mr.  Gansett—' 

"What's  the  matter?— tell  me!" 

"Mort—" 

"Well,  what  about  Mort?" 

"Jes'  now  some  men  come  ter  our  house,  tuck  Mort 


106  LEN  GANSETT. 

out  in  the  woods  an'  hung  him.  Oh,  for  God's  sake — " 
She  sank  upon  the  floor. 

"Come,  Len,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  took  down  a 
gun  from  a  rack  over  the  door.  "Git  the  pistol  outen 
the  top  drawer  of  the  bureau  an'  come  on." 

Len  obeyed.  "Sarah,"  said  the  old  man,  "keep  Miz 
Haney  here  till  we  come  back." 

"Grandpa,"  Len  remarked  as  he  closed  the  door, 
"you'd  better  let  me  carry  the  gun.  I'm  stronger  than 
you  are." 

"Stronger  the  mischief,"  replied  the  old  man.  "I 
ken  fling  you  down  the  best  three  outen  five.  Le's  take 
this  short  cut.  I  don't  know  why  in  the  world  any 
body's  got  anythin'  ag'in'  Mort,  for  he  never  harmed 
nobody  in  the  world." 

"If  I  run  on  ahead,  grandpa,  I  might  get  there  in  time 
to  save  him." 

"Yes,  an'  you  mout  get  there  jest  in  time  to  get  shot. 
Le's  climb  this  fence." 

They  hurried  along  in  silence.  A  screech-owl  cried, 
and  a  fox,  bounding  from  a  patch  of  briers,  struggled 
through  the  deep  snow.  The  moon  was  shining 
brightly,  and  the  woods  were  illustrated  by  white  spots 
and  dark  shadows. 

"Stop,"  said  Len. 

"Hear  anything?" 

"Thought  I  heard  some  one  yelling.  Yes;  come  this 
way." 

The  cries  became  more  distinct.  "They  are  whipping 
him!"  Len  exclaimed,  as  he  rushed  forward.  The  old 
man  could  not  keep  pace  with  him. 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  107 

"What  are  you  doing  here!"  exclaimed  Len.  Two 
men,  throwing  down  something  which  they  seemed  to 
be  using  with  much  vigor,  turned  and  ran  away  in  dif 
ferent  directions.  Len  fired  his  pistol,  and  old  man 
Gansett,  taking  aim  as  though  he  were  drawing  down  on 
a  deer,  fired  his  gun. 

"Didn't  git  him,"  said  the  old  man.  "So  much  for 
small  shot." 

They  found  Haney  tied  across  a  log.  "W'y  Mort, 
whut's  the  matter?"  Mr.  Gansett  asked. 

"Let's  untie  him,"  said  Len.  "I'll  have  to  cut  the 
ropes.  Now  you're  all  right." 

Haney  arose  to  his  feet,  stretched  himself,  tucked 
his  shirt  into  his  pantaloons,  and,  as  he  took  up  his  coat, 
said: — 

"Whew!  This  is  the  hottest  night  fur  sich  cold 
weather  that  I  ever  seed.  Got  er  chaw  uv  terbacker  er- 
bout  yer,  Mr.  Gansett?' 

Old  Bob  gave  him  some  tobacco.  Len  could  not  help 
laughing. 

"Tain't  much  uv  er  laughin'  matter,"  said  Haney. 
"My  back  feels  like  it  has  been  run  over  by  er  ox  cayart." 

"Whut  does  it  all  mean?"  old  Bob  asked.  He  was 
leaning  against  a  tree  and  was  holding  his  sides. 

"Wait  tell  yer  get  through  with  yer  fun,  gentlemen, 
an'  I'll  ter  yer,"  Haney  replied.  "Yer  ack  like  yer  wuz 
at  er  show.  How  did  yer  find  out  I  wa'n't  enjoyin'  ther 
best  uv  health?" 

"Your  wife  told  us,"  old  Bob  replied.  "She's  at  my 
house  now,  an'  I  reckon  we'd  all  better  go  there.  Come 
ahead!" 


108  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Ef  I  find  out  who  my  comp'ny  wuz  ter-night,  some 
body's  goin'  ter  be  too  sick  ter  eat  melasses,"  said  Haney, 
as  he  walked  along  between  old  Bob  and  Len.  "I  hadn't 
quite  got  through  my  supper  when  somebody  hollered 
at  ther  gate.  I  thought  it  wuz  somebody  that  wanted 
ter  stay  all  night,  an'  I  went  out.  'Bout  ther  time  I  got 
ter  ther  gate,  er  feller  grabbed  my  arms  from  behine,  an' 
jes'  then  some  other  feller  flung  er  rope  over  me,  an' 
then  they  both  tied  me.  My  wife  she  seed  'em  erbout 
this  time,  I  reckon,  but  she  wuz  too  sharp  ter  run  out 
whar  they  wuz.  They  had  suthin'  over  ther  faces,  an'  I 
coul'n't  tell  who  they  wuz.  When  they  took  me  out  in 
ther  woods  they  tied  me  ercross  er  laug  an'  wanted  ter 
know  ef  I'd  leave  ther  country  ef  they'd  let  me  off?  I 
wa'n't  prepared  ter  leave  ther  country  jes'  then,  fur  I 
wa'n't  quite  dun  eatin'  supper,  so  I  told  'em  we'd  better 
argy  erwhile.  Well,  we  argyed.  They  talked  hoarse  so's 
I  couldn't  reckognize  ther  voices,  an'  it  peered  aimer 
'while  that  they  had  got  ther  best  uv  it,  fur  they  'gun 
ter  cut  some  switches  ter  larrup  me  with.  Wall,  they 
had  'gun  ter  warm  up  ter  ther  work,  an'  I  had  'gun  ter 
git  putty  tired,  when  I  heard  suthin'  go  off,  an'  then  I 
wuz  untied.  They  cut  ther  blood  outen  me;  but  never 
mine,  thar's  anuther  night  er-comin'.  Ther  worl'  wa'n't 
made  in  er  day." 

"I  didn't  know  that  anybody  had  anything  ag'in  you, 
Mort,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Nuther  did  I;  but  it  'peers  like  they  have.  I  never 
done  nobody  no  harm  that  I  know  uv.  While  them  fel 
lers  wud  er-whuppin'  me  I  Towed  ter  myse'f  that  it  wuz 
er  good  thing  I  didn't  have  no  c.hillun,  fur  ef  I  had  they 


LEN  GANSETT.  109 

mout  git  skeered  an'  set  up  er  yell.  'Bout  that  time  I 
could  do  ernuff  yellin'  fur  er  whole  neighborhood.  Er 
man  don't  know  how  loud  he  ken  yell  tell  he  gits  a 
fa'r  chance." 

When  they  reached  Gansett's  house  Mrs.  Haney 
fainted.  When  she  "came  to,"  which  she  did  after  the 
application  of  remedies  which  Mrs.  Gansett  seemed  to 
have  produced  by  magic,  Haney  said,  "Thar,  now,  set 
up  here.  'Peers  like  I  smell  whiskey.  Wouldn't  mine 
takin'  a  snort  merse'f."  Mrs.  Gansett  brought  a  bottle 
and  a  glass.  "Don't  be  afraid  uv  pourin'  out  too  much," 
said  he.  "Ah,  this  is  fine,"  he  added,  when  he  had 
swallowed  the  whiskey.  "B'Peve  I'll  go  an'  tell  them 
fellers  to  come  back  an'  whup  me  some  mo'." 

"Mort,  yer  oughter  be  ershamed,"  said  Mrs.  Haney. 

"Whut  good  would  that  do?  Folks  are  allus  sayin* 
that  er  man  oughter  be  ershamed  when  thar  ain't  no 
purticuler  use  uv  it.  I  don't  understand  why  anybody 
wants  ter  whup  me,"  he  added,  as  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "Some  folks  may  not  think  it  hurts,  but  I 
oughter  know,  fur  it  'peers  ter  me  like  I've  been  thar. 
Puts  me  in  mine  uv  when  I  wuz  er  boy  an'  had  the  sun 
blister  my  back  when  I  went  in  er-washin'.  Say,  ef  it 
ain't  unperlite,  I  wush  some  uv  yer  would  look  at  my 
back." 

He  took  off  his  coat.  His  shirt  was  red  with  blood. 
"Look  out,"  he  said  to  his  wife.  "Lift  it  easy,  fur  ther 
shirt's  stuck  ter  me." 

"My  gracious!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gansett;  "the  man  is 
cut  all  to  pieces.  Let  me  go  an'  get  some  cold  cream  an* 


HO  LEN  GANSETT. 

put  on  it.    Well,  fur  pity  sake,  whut  merciless  wretches 
they  must  've  been!" 

"Never  mind/'  said  Haney;  "I'll  git  even  when  I  find 
out  who  it  was.  Thar's  a  passul  uv  fellers  in  this  here 
neighborhood  that's  got  inter  ther  habit  uv  goin'  roun' 
an'  whuppin'  folks,  but  thar's  comin'  er  time  when 
they'll  hear  sunthin'  that  won't  soun'  like  er  pian'.  I 
ain't  er  man  ter  growl  an'  cry  over  er  thing  that's  hap 
pened;  but  mark  whut  I  tell  yer,  somebody's  goin'  ter  git 
it  whar  it'll  do  ther  most  good.  That  sorter  feels  like 
it,"  he  added,  when  Mrs.  Gansett  began  to  apply  the 
cold  cream.  "Gimme  my  coat.  Now,  le's  go  home," 
he  added,  addressing  his  wife.  "I'm  er  million  times 
obleeged  fur  whut  yer've  all  done  fur  me.  I  hope  them 
fellers'll  come  back  ter-night.  Ef  they  do,  cold  cream 
won't  do  'em  much  good.  It'll  take  salt,  an'  er  heap 
uv  it,  ter  keep  'em  from  sp'ilin'.  Wall,  good-night,  all 
han's!" 


LEN  OANSETT. 


XII. 

"WHY,  my  dear  boy,  I  am  glad  to  see  yon,"  said 
Colonel  Bently,  as  he  opened  the  gate  for  Len.  "Walk 
in  and  at  once  proceed  to  make  yourself  at  home.  All 
well?"  he  added,  as  he  and  Len  shook  hands. 

"As  well  as  usual,"  Len  replied. 

"Good:  The  thaw  makes  the  roads  pretty  heavy,  I 
see.  Come  this  way." 

•  They  went  into  the  library,  a  room  inviting  to  any 
one  who  regarded  books  as  congenial  companions. 

"You  have  been  at  work,  I  see,"  said  Len,  as  he 
glanced  at  several  sheets  of  manuscript  which  were  lying 
on  a  table. 

"Yes,"  the  colonel  replied,  "I  have  been  trying  to 
grind  out  something  for  a  paper  printed  in  a  town  where 
I  used  to  live.  To  me  my  pen  is  amusing,  but  not 
remunerative.  At  one  time  I  had  hopes  of  becoming 
an  author,  but  after  receiving  many  slaps  at  the  hands 
of  publishers  I  wisely  decided  that  I  was  not  intended 
to  be  a  writer." 

"Do  you  not  suppose  that  you  would  have  succeeded 
had  you  persisted?"  Len  asked. 

"I  think  not,"  the  colonel  replied.  "I  had  a  double 
charge  of  ambition,  but  somehow  I  had  not  that  deft 
touch  which  cultivation  of  ten  fails  to  impart,  and  without 
which  no  man  can  be  a  successful  writer.  I  had  not  the 
knack  of  moving  characters.  I  could  picture  them  well 
enough,  but  when  they  spoke  they  lost  what  little  nat- 


112  LEN  GANSETT. 

uralness  I  had  been  able  to  give  them.  Have  you  ever 
written  any,  Gansett?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Len  replied.  "I  once  wrote  a  story  for 
'Scribner's.'  " 

"You  don't  tell  me/' 

"Yes;  but  it  was  not  printed  in  that  magazine." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  the  colonel,  laughing.  "You  doubt 
less  had  the  forethought  to  enclose  stamps  for  the  return 
of  the  manuscript." 

"Yes,  I  thought  that  the  editor  might  want  to  open 
up  a  correspondence  with  me.  The  correspondence, 
however,  was  very  brief.  It  was  of  a  general  nature, — 
so  general,  in  fact,  that  it  was  printed  on  a  slip  of  paper. 
I  was  sorry  for  the  editor,  for  I  felt  that  he  did  not  know 
what  he  was  losing.  I  sent  the  story  to  'Harper's.'  It 
came  back.  'Magazine  editors,'  I  said  to  myself,  'are 
peculiarly  stupid  this  year.'  I  sent  it  to  several  news 
papers,  and  at  last  I  took  it  to  an  editor  who  published 
a  country  paper, — a  sheet  something  like  the  Ticket.' 
The  editor  said  that  he  was  rushed,  but  that  if  I  would 
pay  a  tramp  printer; — who  happened  to  be  on  hand — it 
should  appear,  as  Dickens  would  express  it,  in  all  the 
glory  of  print.  I  had  only  seventy-five  cents.  The 
printer  agreed,  for  that  sum,  to  undertake  the  enter 
prise.  I  stood  near  him,  expecting  to  hear  a  compli 
mentary  ejaculation.  When  I  stepped  back  to  get  a 
drink  of  water,  the  editor,  who.  had  scarcely  looked  at 
the  story,  asked  the  printer  what  he  thought  of  it. 
The  ungrateful  type-setter  replied  that  it  was  an  average 
quality  of  hog-wash.  I  presume  that  somebody  must 
have  read  the  story,  but  no  one  ever  spoke  to  me  with 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  113 

regard  to  it.  I  was  certain  that  it  would  increase  the 
circulation  of  the  paper;  but  several  weeks  afterward, 
when  the  sheet  suspended,  I  decided  that  it  had  not. 
Since  then  I  have  done  but  little  writing  for  publi 
cation." 

"You  should  not  stop,"  said  the  colonel.  "I  believe 
that  if  you  would  take  the  characters  which  we  see  every 
day  in  this  neighborhood,  draw  them  just  as  they  are, 
and  weave  them  into  a  story,  that  it  would  be  a  success. 
Come  in."  Some  one  had  rapped  on  the  door.  Mr. 
Honeycut  entered.  "How  are  you?"  said  the  colonel. 
"You  know  Gansett.  Sit  down." 

Mr.  Honeycut  seated  himself,  squirted  a  stream  of 
tobacco-juice  into  the  fire,  stretched  out  his  legs,  struck 
his  heels  together,  scattered  mud  and  snow  on  the 
hearth,  and  said: — 

"Sorter  saft  outside." 

"It  seems  to  be,"  the  colonel  replied,  glancing  at  the 
mud  on  the  hearth. 

"Yas,"  Honeycut  continued;  "thought  I  never  would 
git  through  Beasley's  lane.  Haven't  seed  Mort  Haney 
sense  he  wuz  whupped,  I  reckon?" 

"No,"  the  colonel  replied.  "Wonder  if  he  has  any 
idea  who-  committed  the  outrage?" 

"Not  fur  shore.  I  passed  his  house  jest  now  an'  wuz 
taikin'  with  him,  an'  he  'lowed  that  he  wuz  nosin'  'round 
an'  would  drap  on  somebody  unbeknowin's.  Oh,  Mort's 
er  keen  un,  an'  I'd  hate  ter  be  ther  guilty  feller  an'  face 
him." 

Mr.  Honeycut  "popped"  his  heels  together  again. 
The  colonel,  slightly  frowning,  said: — 


LEN  G  AN  SETT. 

"You'll  get  some  of  the  mud  off  your  feet  if  you 
keep  on." 

"Yas,  reckon  so.  Mighty  saft  outside.  Thought  I 
never  would  git  through  Beasley's  lane.  Speakin'  'bout 
Mort,  w'y'  I  dunno  whut  anybody'd  wanter  larrup  him 
fur.  I  don't  b'l'eve  he  ever  pestered  er  man  in  his  life. 
Gansett,  don't  know  whuther  the  ole  man  is  goin'  ter 
tend  the  bottom  fiel'  j'inin'  Mort's,  do  yer?" 

"I  am  goin'  to  cultivate  it." 

"Say  yer  air?" 

"Yes." 

"Yer'll  have  er  happy  time  with  the  cuckle  burrs. 
Have  ter  be  er  lettle  perter  than  yer  air  now,  I  tell  yer. 
Better  let  me  tend  it  on  the  sheers." 

"I'll  take  care  of  it,"  Len  replied. 

"Have  yer  han's  full,  I  tell  yer." 

"That's  all  right." 

"Yer  won't  think  so  'bout  ther  middle  uv  June." 

"I  don't  know  what  I'll  think  then,  but  I  do  know 
what  I  think  now." 

"Yas,  I  reckon  so.  Co'n'l,  haven't  got  nothin*  ter 
drink  layin'  roun'  loose,  have  yer?" 

The  colonel,  without  replying,  placed  a  decanter  and 
goblet  on  the  table.  Honeycut  took  an  immodest  drink 
and  said,  "Don't  yer  indulge,  Gansett?" 

"No,"  Len  replied. 

"Wall,  I  do.    Here's  at  yer  ag*m." 

He  turned  toward  the  fire,  and  stretching  out  hia 
legs,  again  struck  his  heels  together,  remarking  that  it 
was  "sorter  saft  outside." 

"There  is  no  doubt  about  it,"  said  the  colonel. 


LEN  GANSETT. 

hain't  be,"  replied  Honeycut,  "fur  I  thought  I 
never  would  git  through  Beasley's  lane.  So  yer  air 
goin'  ter  crap  it  with  ther  aid  man?"  he  added,  address 
ing  Len. 

"Yes." 

"Yer'll  find  ther  old  man  a  pusher,  an'  er  humper. 
I  worked  fur  him  one  year,  an'  he  stirred  me  early  an' 
late.  Ef  yer  work  with  him  thar  won't  be  no  grass 
growin'  un'er  yer  feet." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  work,"  Len  replied. 

"I  wa'n't  nuther,"  said  Honeycut,  "but  he  come 
mighty  nigh  puttin'  me  through.  Better  let  me  take 
that  fiel'." 

"I  have  told  you  that  I  am  going  to  cultivate  it." 

"Yas,  that's  whut  I  beam  yer  say.  Wall,  b'l'eve  I'll 
jine  myse'f  in  ernutber  drink.  Here's  lookin'  at  yer!" 

The  colonel,  excusing  himself,  left  the  hoom." 

Honeycut  produced  a  flask  and  filled  it  from  the 
decanter.  "Er  feller's  got  ter  heel  hisse'f,"  said  he. 
"It's  sorter  saft  outside,  an'  I  wanter  brace  myse'f  ag'in' 
I  git  ter  Beasley's  lane." 

The  colonel  reentered  the  room.  Len  could  see  that 
Honeycut  annoyed  Bently,  and  knew  that  the  affable 
man's  politeness  was  all  that  kept  the  colonel  from  kick 
ing  Honeycut  out  of  the  house. 

"Co'n'l,  ef  thar's  anything  handy,  I'll  eat  er  snack," 
said  Honeycut. 

"You'll  find  something  in  the  dining-room,"  Bently 
replied.  "Go  and  help  yourself." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  stand  that  man,"  Len  re 
marked,  when  Honeycut  had  quitted  the  room. 


116  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Oh,  well,"  rejoined  Bently,  "we  have  to  put  up  with 
many  unpleasant  things.  Sometimes  I  feel  my  fingers 
closing  themselves  into  a  fist,  and  I  often  have  to  put 
my  left  foot  on  top  of  my  right  one  to  hold  it  down, 
but  I  reason  with  myself.  The  fellow  ought  to  have 
better  sense,  but  somehow  he  hasn't.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  am  afraid  of  him,  for  I  don't  think  that  he 
would  hesitate  to  set  my  house  afire  or  stick  a  knife  into 
me.  I  regard  him  as  a  very  dangerous  man." 

"Well,"  said  Len,  "when  it  comes  to  that,  you  can  be 
as  dangerous  as  he  is,  can't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes;  but  I  don't  want  to  kill  the  fellow,  and  if 
I  were  to  make  him  angry  I  would  have  it  to  do  or  be 
killed  myself.  I'll  tell  you  how  desperate  he  is:  some 
time  ago,  he  rode  up  to  a  voting  precinct,  knocked 
down  three  negroes,  seized  the  ballot-box,  and,  in  the 
presence  of  a  crowd  of  men,  kindled  a  fire  and  burned 
the  ballots." 

"Why  didn't  the  judges  shoot  him?"  Len  asked. 

"They  were  afraid." 

"I  have  never  had  anything  to  do  with  elections, 
colonel,  and  I  don't  know  how  hard  a  ballot-box  is  to 
hold,  but  I  don't  think  that  any  man  could  take  one 
away  from  me." 

"Hush,  he's  coming!" 

Honeycut  reentered  the  room.     Len  regarded  him 
contemptuously,  but  the  colonel  politely  invited  him  to 
take  a  seat.    He  sa't  down,  clasped  his  hands  back  of  his- 
head  and  looked  with  a  lear  at  Len.     Young  Gansett 
thought  that  he  had  never  before  seen  a  face  so  hideous. 

"Colonel,"  said  Len,  arising,  "I  must  go." 


LEN  GANSETT.  H7 

"What?" 

"Yes,  I  must  go.  I  merely  stopped  in  to  see  you,  not 
intending,  really,  to  stay  so  long  as  I  have." 

"Stay  to  supper,  old  boy." 

"No,  I  thank  you.  I  must  get  back  and  help  grandpa 
feed  the  cattle." 

"I  am  sorry  you  are  going  so  soon.  Give  the  old 
couple  my  kindest  regards,  please." 

The  sun  had  gone  down.  The  soft,  glowing  twilight 
of  a  Southern  winter's  evening  tipped  with  gold  the 
dead  leaves  on  the  .oak  saplings.  Len  stopped  when  he 
reached  a  point  where  the  road  wound  its  way  along  a 
great  bluff  that  over-looked  the  river,  and  stood  gazing 
down  the  stream.  Cow-bells,  with  their  tankter-tank- 
tank,  made  music  in  the  distant  canebreak;  and  away 
down,  amid  wild  vines  and  dead  weeds,  the  fox,  prepar 
ing  for  a  night  of  adventure,  caught  the  sound  of  the 
bells,  and  waltzed  grotesquely  in  the  deepening  gloom. 

"Hello,  whut  yer  lookin'  at?" 

Len  turned  and  beheld  Honeycut  standing  near  him. 

"I  am  looking  at  the  xiver." 

"That's  whut  I  'lowed  ter  myse'f,  but  er  feller  that's 
got  a-hankerin'  fur  lookin'  at  ther  river  won't  be  much 
uv  er  han'  ter  tend  that  fiel'." 

"Never  mind  the  field,  I'll  take  care  of  it." 

"Glad  to  hear  yer  talk  that  way.  Like  to  hear  er  man 
talk  erbout  work,  fur  thar  ain't  er  lazy  bone  in  my  body. 
Mort  Haney's  been  splittin'  some  rails  fur  thur  ole  man, 
hain't  he?" 

"Yes." 


LEN  GAN8ETT. 

"That's  whut  I  'lowed.  Them  fellers  done  Mort  up 
putty  brown,  didn't  they?" 

"Oh,  well,  now,  Honeycut,  I  don't  want  to  talk  to 
you.  I  don't  want  your  company,  and  you  would  con 
fer  a  favor  on  me  by — " 

"Goin'  erhead,  eh?" 

"Yes." 

"Wall,  hain't  I  got  er  right  ter  stand  here  as  well  as 
anbody?" 

"I  don't  dispute  your  right,  and  I  don't  care  how  long 
you  stand  here,  so  you  don't  say  anything  to  me." 

"'So  good,  erbody  kain't  speak  ter  yer,  I  reckon?" 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Len,  "I  am  too  good,  or  too  bad,  or 
too  something,  to  talk  with  you." 

"Hell  uv  er  feller,  ain't  yer?" 

"Never  mind  what  sort  of  a  fellow  I  am/' 

"That's  all  right,  podner";  we  won't  hitch.  I  like 
the  ole  man,  an'  wouldn't  jower  with  yer  jes'  on  his 
ercount.  Made  Mort  putty  mad  when  ther  fellers  lar 
ruped  him,  didn't  it?" 

"Rather,"  Len  replied,  with  a  change  of  manner.  He 
looked  at  Honeycut,  and  did  not  seem  to  be  tired  of 
the  interview.  A  suspicion  had  arisen  in  his  mind. 

"Whut  yer  reckon  they  whupped  him  fur,  Gansett?" 

"I  don't  know.  You  can  probably  answer  that 
question." 

"How  do  I  know?" 

"You  ought  to  know." 

"Why  so?" 

"You  were  one  of  the  men  who  whipped  him." 

"You  are  a  liar!" 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  H9 

"Say,"  said  Len,  perfectly  calm,  "I  wish  you  would 
be  a  little  more  particular.  You  might  make  me  ner 
vous  if  you  keep  on  this  way." 

Honeycut  laughed,  and  an  owl,  which  had  alighted 
on  the  dead  branch  of  a  tree  not  far  away,  hooted  in 
refrain. 

"Whut  makes  you — oh,  say,  yer  wuz  over  ter  Hobdy's 
tuther  day.  Ned  is  er  smart  little  gal.  Puttiest  young 
un'  I  ever  seed.  When  she  gits  old  ernuff  me  an'  her 
is  goin'  to  marry." 

"God  save  her  from  such  a  fate!" 

"Wall,  go  an'  ax  ther  ole  man.  She  is  gettin'  erlong 
putty  well  now — soon  be  er-w'arin'  long  coats,  an'  it's 
'bout  time  I  wuz  a-lookin'  out  fur  er  house  ter  put  her 
in.  Oh,  her  an'  ther  ole  man  is  anxious." 

"You  are  a  liar!"  Len  exclaimed.  "She  can  not  but 
despise  you." 

"Wall,  go  an'  ax  her.  I'll  bet  she'll  tell  yer  that  we're 
engaged.  Oh,  you  neenter  git  mad  an'  stomp,  fur  it's 
er  fack.  Ther  ole  man  tells  me  that  ef  me  an'  Ned 
don't  git  married  airier  while  he  never  will  be  happy; 
but  that's  neither  here  nur  thar.  Whut  makes  yer 
think  I  he'ped  whup  Mort?" 

"Never  mind  what  makes  me  think  so.    I  believe  it, 
and  I  am  goin'  to  tell  him  so." 
"Oh,  yer  wouldn't  do  that,  would  yer?" 

"Go  on,  now," 

"Go  on  yerse'f.  Young  man,  it  hits  me  that  yer  air 
a  little  too  big  fur  yer  britches,  an'  it's  time  yer  wuz 
tuck  down  er  peg  er  two,  an'  ef  .yer  fool  'long  with  me 
I'll  do  it.  Do  yer  bear  me?  Hah,  do  yer  hear?" 

"Mr.  Honeycut,  I  don't  desire  any  dealings  with  you. 


120  LEN  GANSETT. 

Our  roads  are  not  in  the  same  direction.    I  must  go." 

Len  turned  to  go.  Honeycut  exclaimed:  "Hold  on, 
old  feller!  Thar's  been  things  said  here  that  I  don't 
like.  Yer  said  that  I  he'ped  whup  Mort,  didn't  yer?" 

"Yes." 

"How  do  yer  know?" 

"Of  course  I  have  no  positive  proof,  butl  believe  it." 

"Yas,  an'  yer  b'l'eve  like  ther  ole  feller  over  ther  river. 
Look  here,  I  ain't  ther  man  ter  stan'  sich  er  dose  as 
that.  I  don't  mine  takin'  cast'-oil,  but  when  thar's  too 
much  turpentine  mixed  in  with  it,  w'y,  I  kick  outen  the 
traces.  Uv  cose  I  ain't  guilty  an'  nothin'  of  ther  so't, 
but  you've  got  ter  sw'ar  that  yer'll  keep  yer  mouth  shet 
'fore  yer  leave  here." 

"You  have  convinced  me,"  Len  replied.  "Now  I 
know  that  you  are  guilty." 

"Now,  here,  Gansett,  I  want  to  give  you  a  fa'r  chance. 
Yer  ain't  much  mo'  than  er  boy,  an'  boys  is  ap'  ter  be 
rash.  Take  back  whut  yer've  said  an'  promise  not  ter 
say  nothin'  erbout  it  ur  yer'll  wish  yer  had." 

Honeycut  slowly  advanced.    "Keep  back,"  said  Len. 

"All  hell  kain't  make  me  keep  back.  Do  whut  I  tell 
yer,  ur  I'll  fling  yer  offen  this  bluff.  I  don't  like  yer 
nohow." 

"Thank  you." 

"I  hate  yer,  Gansett." 

"You  flatter  me." 

"Goin'  ter  do  it?" 

"No." 

Honeycut  seized  Len.  A  desperate  struggle  followed. 
Len,  with  one  hand,  caught  a  sapling.  The  next 
moment  Honeycut  was  thrown  over  the  bluff. 


LEN  GANSETT.  121 


XIII. 

"GREAT  Lord!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  with  a 
shudder.  He  looked  over  the  precipice.  About  six  feet 
from  the  rugged  edge  of  the  bluff,  on  a  bending  sapling 
whose  roots  found  scanty  life  among  the  crevices  of  the 
rocks,  sat  Mr.  Honeycut.  He  had  fallen  astride  the 
sapling,  and  had  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  hold  on 
and  make  his  seat  secure. 

"Thank  God!"  said  Len. 

"That's  all  right,  young  feller,"  Honeycut  replied; 
"but  don't  roll  er  rock  down  on  me." 

"I  won't.    Is  there  any  way  in  which  I  can  help  you?" 

"Yas,  jest  say  the  word  an'  I'll  climb  up  the  edge. 
Say  that  yer  won't  shove  me  off  ergin  an'  I'll  soon  be 
up  thar." 

"God  knows  that  I  have  no  desire  to  shove  you  off." 

"That's  all  right.  God  mout  know  all  erbout  it,  but 
I  wanter  know  it  too." 

He  climbed  up.  Len  took  hold  of  a  sapling,  reached 
out  his  hand  and  assisted  him. 

"I  see  that  thar  ain't  much  use'n  skylarkin'  with 
you,"  said  the  rescued  man,  as  he  began  to  arrange  his 
"bed-tick"  suspenders,  which  had  been  broken  by  the 
fall.  "Now,  lemme  tell  yer,  I  wouldn't  have  ther 
co'n'l  ter  know  erbout  this  here  frolic  fur  nothin'  in  ther 
worl'.  He's  been  er  mighty  good  frien'  ter  me,  an'  has 
he'ped  me  outen  mor'n  one  tight  place,  an'  ef  he-wus  ter 
know  that  I  had  tried  ter  floor  you  he  would  turn  er 


122  LEN  GANSETT. 

shoulder  as  cold  as  a  Jennywery  meetin'-house  on  me. 
Jes'  let  ther  thing  drap  an'  I'll  pledge  yer  my  word  an* 
honor  as  a  gentleman — an'  nobody  ken  say  that  I  ain't 
— that  I  never  will  bother  yer  no  mo'.  I  am  a  peaceable 
man,  Mr.  Gansett,  an'  ef  it  hadn't  been  fur  that  whiskey 
that  I  slipped  inter  that  bottle  while  ther  co'n'l  wuz  out, 
I  never  woulder  toch  yer.  What  do  yer  say?" 

"I  have  no  disposition  to  renew  the  contest/'  Len 
replied. 

"I  know,  but  will  yer  promise  not  ter  say  nothin' 
erbout  our  lettle  erf  air?" 

"Yes,  for  it  is  of  no  credit  to  either  of  us." 

"Now  yer  talkin'.     Gimme  yer  han'." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Len.  "We  can  never  be  on  very 
pleasant  terms,  at  least  our  relations  can  never  be  very 
cordial.  Keep  out  of  my  way  and  I  will  endeavor  to 
keep  out  of  yours." 

Len  did  not  wait  to  hear  Honeycut's  replv,  but,  turn 
ing  abruptly,  walked  rapidly  toward  home.  His  grand 
mother  met  him  at  the  gate.  It  was  dark,  and  the  old 
lady  did  not  recognize  him  until  he  spoke. 

"Thank  goodness,  you've  got  back  safe  an  sound!" 
she  said,  placing  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"It  is  not  late,  grandma." 

"I  know,  but  I  have  been  so  oneasy  about  you.  I 
never  felt  that  way  about  you  before.  I  don't  know 
what  put  it  into  my  head,  but  I  thought  you  fell  in  the 
river  an'  was  drown ded." 

When  they  entered  the  sitting-room  old  Bob,  who  was 
fanning  the  fire  with  a  turkey-wing,  looked  up  and 
said: — 


LEN  OANSETT.  123 

"W'y,  how'd  you  git  out  o'  the  river.  Lenqubees?" 

"I  haven't  been  in  the  river." 

"That's  strange.  Sarah  throwd  you  in  about  sun 
down  an' — " 

Now,  Bob!" 

"Oh,  yes,  you  did.  You  come  in  from  the  kitchen  an' 
lowed  that  you  knowed  Len  was  in  the  river.  You  went 
on  at  a  terrible  rate,  an'  at  one  time  I  thought  about 
norratin'  it  around  the  neighborhood.  I  told  her  that 
you  would  be  along  d'reckly;  but  no,  she  'lowed  that 
you  was  gone." 

"The  men  folks  never  will  understand  the  wimen 
folks,"  Mrs.  Gansett  replied.  "I  kain't  explain  it,  but 
whiler  go,  when  I  was  out  in  the  kitchen,  jest  as  I  took 
a  pan  o'  biscuit  outen  the  stove,  I  thought  that  some 
body  was  tryin'  to  throw  you  in  the  river.  I  let  the 
pan  fall  an'  run  in  here,  an'  Bob  'gun  to  laugh  at  me." 

"Well,  I  am  here,  and  with  a  good  appetite  for  sup 
per,"  said  Len. 

After  supper,  while  Len  and  the  old  man  were  at  the 
stable,  looking  after  the  wants  of  the  horses  the  young 
man  said: — 

"I  suppose  you  can  keep  a  secret,  grandpa." 

The  old  man,  hanging  a  lantern  on  a  peg,  looked  at 
Len  and  replied: — 

"Well,  I  have  kept  many  a  one." 

"I  promised  to  say  nothing  about  it,  and  would  keep 
the  promise  had  not  grandma's  presentiment  so  im 
pressed  me." 

He  then  gave  an  account  of  his  encounter  with 
Honeycut. 


124  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Well,  I'll  swear,  that  is  strange,"  said  the  old  man. 
"I  don't  understand  it.  There  is  something  strange 
about  your  grandmother.  Sometimes  she  says  I  look  for 
So-and-so  to-day,  and  the  first  thing  I  know  here  comes 
So-and-so.  Len,  why  did  the  fellow  want  to  kill  you?" 

"I  have  no  idea,  unless  it  was  that  he  thought  I  sus 
pected  him  of  whipping  Haney." 

"Do  you  really  think  that  he  helped  to  whip  Mort?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know  why — don't  understand  his  motive, 
but  somehow  I  suspect  him." 

"Who  was  the  other  one?" 

"I  have  no  idea." 

"It  won't  do  to  tell  Mort." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  he's  so  mad  that  he'll  go  right  to  work  with 
out  investigatin'  the  matter." 

"I  don't  intend  to  tell  him  what  I  suspect.  It  is 
better  to  let  him  make  his  own  discoveries  and  sum  up 
his  own  conclusions." 

"Honeycut  is  mean  enough  to  do  anything,"  the  old 
man  said.  "He  has  never  been  known  to  do  anything 
desperate,  but  ever  since  he  was  a  boy  he  has  been 
looked  on  as  a  no  'count  feller,  that  would  do  anythin' 
mean.  He  is  lazy  as  a  dog,  an'  ef  it  wan't  fer  the 
colonel  he  would  starve  to  death." 

"Well,  we'll  not—" 

"Hello,  in  thar!"  called  a  voice. 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged  if  thar  am't  Mort,"  said  the 
old  man.  "We'll  be  out  in  a  minit,"  old  Bob  continued. 


LEN  GANSETT.  125 

"How  do  you  find  yo'self  ?"  lie  added  when  he  and  Len 
had  passed  out.  - 

"Oh,  sorter  sore,  but  able  ter  be  stirrin'.  How  are  yer, 
Len?  Wife  an'  me  'eluded  we'd  come  over  ter-night, 
as  we  didn't  have  nothin'  else  ter  do.  Men  folks  won't 
stay  at  home,  an'  wimin  folks  don't  like  ter.  Soon  be 
time  ter  bergin  stirrin'  uv  ther  s'ile,  Mr.  Gansett." 

"Yes,"  old  Bob  replied.  "For  the  last  day  or  so  I 
have  felt  might'ly  like  seem'  the  dirt  turned  over.  Yis- 
tedy  I  caught  the  scent  o'  burnin'  grass,  an'  I  could 
hardly  keep  from  ploughin'  a  few  furrows." 

When  they  reached  the  house  they  found  Mrs.  Gan 
sett  deep  in  the  description  of  the  impression  which  had 
come  upon  her  that  evening.  "Bob  an*  Len  won't 
believe  me,"  said  Mrs.  Gansett;  "but  I  tell  them  that 
they  do  not  understand  wimin  folks." 

"That  they  don't,"  replied  Mrs.  Haney;  "that  they 
don't.  Mort  he  laughs  at  me  when  I  tell  him  that  I 
have  that  sorter  feelin',  but — " 

"It's  becase  I  ain't  got  no  faith  in  it,"  Mort  replied. 

"Now  lemme  tell  yer,"  continued  Mrs.  Haney,  turning 
to  Mrs.  Gansett.  "Some  time  ago  me  an'  Mort  went 
over  ter  Braley's,  an'  as  we  was  comin'  back,  I  says: 
'Mort,  somethin'  has  happened  at  home,  somethin' 
awful.'  'How  do  yer  know?'  saye  he.  'Cause,'  says  I, 
'I  feel  that  er  way,  an'  I  jes'  know  thar  is;'  an'  bless  yer, 
when  we  got  home  we  found  that  somethin'  had  got  in 
ter  ther  smoke-house  an*  stole  the  last  midlin'  uv  meat 
we  had." 

"Wall,"  said  Mort,  "the  meat  woulder  been  gone  ef 
yer  hadnter  felt  that  way." 


126  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Yas,  but  I  felt  that  way." 

"Ah,  hah! — an'  ef  yer'd  er  felt  that  way  an'  hadenter 
found  nothin'  missin',  yer  wouldn't  have  been  so  keen 
ter  tell  it.  Come  ter  think  erbout  it,  yer  never  tell  me 
erbout  yer  strange  feelin's  till  airter  somethin'  has  dun 
happened." 

"W'y,  Mort  Haney,  ain't  yer  ershamed  ter  set  thar  an' 
talk  that  er  way?" 

"It's  er  faek.  Ther  other  night,  airter  I  wuz  dun 
whupped,  yer  tole  me  uv  er  dream  yer  had  ther  night 
afore." 

"I  did  have  the  dream,  but  I  forgot  ter  tell  yer  erbout 
it  in  time  ter  do  any  good." 

The  conversation  during  the  visit  of  Mort  and  his 
wife  was  chiefly  held  down  to  the  unfleeting  fact  that 
the  "men  folks  don't  understand  the  wimen  folks." 

The  next  day  Len  went  over  to  the  Hobdy  place. 
Honeycut's  words  with  regard  to  Ned  hummed,  with 
wearisome  repetition,  in  the  young  man's  ears.  Len 
found  Ned  in  the  woods  near  the  house.  He  heard  her 
singing  before  he  saw  her.  She  was  sitting  on  a  large 
log.  One  of  her  shoes  lay  on  the  ground,  and,  in  happy 
carelessness,  she  waved  her  "stocking-foot"  to  and  fro 
in  the  entrancing  sunshine.  When  she  saw  Len  she  clap 
ped  her  hands,  jumped  off  the  log,  put  on  her  shoe, 
jumped  back  again,  and  cried  out: — 

"Now,  Lenqubees,  I'm  dressed  ready  ter  see  yer." 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  little  girl,"  said  Len,  as  he 
seated  himself  beside  her. 

"I  ain't  so  awful  little,"  she  replied,  giving  the  skirt 
of  her  ragged  dress  a  petulant  flirt.  "Long  time  ergo 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  127 

folks  called  me  little,  but  now  it's  time  for  *em  to  stop." 

"All  right.    How  is  your  father?" 

"Mighty  bad.  Ther  good  weather  took  erway  his 
pains;  but  yistidy  he  would  he'p  me  wring  out  some 
clothes  that  I  had  washed,  an'  ther  pains  come  back.  I 
tried  my  best  ter  keep  him  frum  dabblin'  in  ther  water, 
but,  child-like,  he  would  do  it.  Men  never  does  know 
whut's  good  fur  'em.  Did  yer  come  er  purpose  ter  see 
me?" 

"Yes." 

"No,  you  didn't." 

"Then,  why  did  I  come?" 

"Jes  ter  be  er-comin',  I  reckon." 

"After  to-day  I  cannot  come  so  often." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  am  going  to  begin  ploughing  to-morrow." 

"I'm  allus  glad  ter  see  yer,  but  it  is  gittin'  erbout 
time  that  folks  was  a-ploughin'  ef  they  wanter  do  any- 
thin.  As  dad  is  so  uncertain,  we  kain't  tend  much  uv 
a  crap,  but  we're  goin'  ter  do  ther  best  we  ken  an'  trust 
ter  the  cross-roads  boys." 

"The  cross-roads  boys?" 

"Yes.  That's  whut  pap  calls  ther  rain  in  ther  sum 
mer  time  when  yer  ken  see  it  way  cross  ther  field." 

"Ned,  do  you  know  a  man  named  Honeycut?" 

The  girl  frowned.  "Whut  made  yer  speak  uv  him?" 
she  asked. 

"I  merely  want  to  know  if  you  are  acquainted  with 
him." 

"Is  that  all  yer  want  to  know?  No,  it  ain't,"  she 
added,  giving  Len  a  serious  look.  "You  hav  hearn 


128  LEN  G  AN  SETT. 

something  an'  I  wanter  know  who  told  yer  an*  whut 
they  told  yer." 

"Well,  I  saw  Honeycut  yesterday  over  at  Colonel 
Bently's.  We  walked  part  of  the  way  home  together, 
and  he  spoke  of  you.  He  had  been  drinking,  otherwise 
I  don't  suppose  he  would  have  spoken  as  he  did." 

"How  did  he  speak?"  she  asked.  Her  manner  had 
changed.  An  old  woman  could  not  have  been  more 
serious. 

"Well,  he  intimated  that  so  soon  as  you  become  old 
enough  that — that — " 

"That  we'd  marry?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.    It  is  not  true,  is  it?" 

"I'm  erfeerd  it  is." 

"What!— you  marry  that  brute?" 

"Oh,  don't  le's  talk  about  it." 

"But  you  must  tell  me  more." 

She  tried  to  assume  a  lively  air,  but  the  effort  resulted 
in  failure.  "Come,  little  girl,  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"Thar  ain't  much  ter  tell,  Mr.  Gansett.  Ever  sense 
I  ken  recolleck  I  have  been  told  by  dad  that  I  must 
marry  Honeycut." 

"Your  father  surely  does  not  like  the  man." 

"I  don't  see  how  he  ken,  but  thar  don't  many  days 
slip  'twixt  ther  time  uv  one  tellin'  an'  ernuther.  I  hate 
ther  man.  I  could  kill  him.  I  do  b'lieve  that  ef  some 
body  wuster  kill  him  ther  Lord  would  say  that  he  done 
right.  Many  a  time  when  we  wus  out  uv  meat  I  have 
seed  dad  give  Honeycut  ther  last  cent  uv  money  in  ther 
house." 


LEN  GANSETT.  129 

"And  to  oblige  your  father  you  will  one  day  marry 
Honey  cut?" 

"I  hafter,  Mr.  Len;  but  I  hope  that  I'll  die  as  soon  as 
ever  I  do." 

"You  are  very  young  yet,  and  many  changes  may 
occur  between  now  and  the  time  when  you'll  be  of 
marriageable  age." 

"Yes,  that's  so;  an'  it's  that  alone  what  keeps  me  up. 
I  ain't  smart  with  books,  but  outside  uv  'em  I  ain't  er 
fool." 

"You  are  a  remarkably  bright  child." 

"Child,"  she  repeated;  "w'y,  Mr.  Len,  I  ain't  no  child. 
Let  me  tell  you  somethin'.  I'll  soon  be  fifteen  years 
old.  I'm  holdin'  my  age  back  to  keep  from — you  know 
what.  Lemme  tell  yer.  Ther  other  night  I  thought  I 
wuz  free.  I  dremp'  that  Honeycut  fell  in  the  river  an' 
was  drownded.  I  seed  him  as  plain  as  daylight,  an'  then 
I  seed — seed  you,  an'  I  thought  yer  tole  me  that  Honey- 
cut  fell  off  the  bluff.  I  almos'  wush  he  had." 

"And  I  wish  now  that  I  had — wish  now  that  he  had. 
Ned,  you  are  a  beautiful  girl — don't  turn  away.  You 
are  the  most  beautiful  creature  I  have  ever  seen,  and 
your  soul  is  as  beautiful  as  your  face.  I  am  determined 
that  you  shall  never  become  the  wife  of  that  beast." 

"But  dad  says—" 

"It  makes  no  difference  what  dad  says.  You  shall 
never  marry  Honeycut." 

"How  ken  I  he'p  it  ef  dad  says  I  must?" 

"Let  me  tell  you,  Ned,  if  the  worst  comes  I  will  kill 
Honeycut.  I  will  take  the  life  of  a  dog  to  save  the  life 
of  an  angel — chop  down  a  weed  to  save  a  flower.  Don't 


130  LEN  G  AN  SETT. 

look  at  me  so  curiously.  I  know  the  thought  is  horrible 
to  you,  but  it  is  pleasant  to  me.  I  will  take  no  advan 
tage  of  him — will  give  him  every  possible  show — " 

"Oh,  he  might  kill  you,  Len." 

"No,  he  could  not.  My  cause  will  be  the  cause  of 
justice.  Ned,  you  cannot  marry  that  man.  He  is  a 
brute." 

"I  know  it,  but  dad  says  that  I  must.  Honeycut  was 
over  here  the  other  day,  an'  after  he  left  dad  come  ter 
me  an'  says,  'Yer  love  me,  don't  yer,  Ned?' — 'Yes,  dad,' 
I  said,  'yer  know  I  do.' — 'Then  yertl  do  whut  I  want 
yer  ter,  won't  yer — do  it  ter  save  me?'  I  told  him 
'Yes/  " 

"How  save  him  ?"  Len  asked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Honeycut  has  got  some  sort  uv 
a  holt  on  dad;  I  don't  know  whut  it  is,  but  dad  has 
hinted  ter  me — now  don't  yer  never  say  nothin'  erbout 
this — that  Honeycut  could  have  him  hung.  I  know  that 
dad  never  done  nothin'  wrong.  I  know  it  jes'  as  well 
as  I  know  my  name." 

"Never  mind,  Ned,  it  will  all  come  out  right.  Do 
you  know  that  I  would  rather  be  killed  than  to  see  you 
marry  Honeycut?" 

"No,  why  would  yer?" 

"Because,  sweet  creature,  I  love  you."  She  glanced 
at  him,  burst  into  tears,  jumped  off  the  log  and  ran 
away. 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  131 


XIV. 

LEN  stood  gazing  after  the  girl  until  she  disappeared 
behind  the  house,  and  then  he  followed  her.  When  he 
turned  the  corner  of  the  house,  Ned,  who  sat  in  the 
doorway,  jumped  up  and  exclaimed: — 

"Wy,  dad,  here's  Mr.  Len!  Come  in.  We're  awful 
glad  to  see  yer." 

She  extended  her  hand  and  greeted  Len  as  though 
ma'ny  weeks  had  elapsed  since  she  had  seen  him.  "Come 
in  an'  set  down.  Git  up,  kittie/'  she  said  as  she  took  a 
chair  and  shook  it.  A  lazy  cat  suffered  itself  to  be  dis 
lodged.  Len,  after  speaking  to  old  man  Hobdy,  sat 
down.  The  old  man  looked,  with  a  pair  of  blurred  eyes, 
at  the  visitor. 

"How  is  your  health,  Mr.  Hobdy?" 

"Ain't  got  none.    How's  yourn?" 

"Pretty  fair,  thank  you." 

"Yas,  yer  ken  well  erford  ter  say  putty  fair  when  yer 
air  strong  ernuff  to  fling  down  er  two-year-ole  bull. 
Ever'body  but  me  ken  be  well.  Eeckon  the  Lord'ul- 
mighty's  got  er  spite  at  me.  Don't  know  why,  fur  I 
ain't  never  done  nothin'  agin  him." 

"Oh,  you'll  come  out  all  right,"  Len  replied. 

The  old  man  frowned  until  his  ragged  brows  almost 
hid  his  blurred  eyes  and  rejoined:  "Yas,  like  hell." 

"Now,  jes'  do  lissun  at  dad,"  said  the  girl.  "Ther  bad 
man'll  git  yer,  mine  ef  he  don't." 


132  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Damn  ther  bad  man!"  howled  the  old  man  as  he 
drew  up  one  leg  and  wrinkled  his  nose. 

"Never  mine/'  the  girl  went  on;  "one  uv  these  here 
days  yer^ll  hear  suthin'  comin'  down  ther  road  like  er 
two-hoss  wagin,  an'  when  yer  look  up  yerll  see  ther  ole 
bad  man  er-comin'  erlong,  knockin'  his  hoofs  tergether." 

"Oh,  hush  up  with  yer  nonsense!  When  air  yer  goin' 
over  ter  Johnson's  airter  that  milk?" 

"Goin'  right  now/'  she  said  as  she  took  down  a  yellow 
pitcher  from  a  shelf. 

"I'll  go  with  you/'  Len  remarked. 

"No  yer  won't,"  she  replied.  "I  want  yer  ter  stay 
with  dad  till  I  come  back  ter  keep  ther  bad  man  from 
gittin'  him/' 

"Well,  I'll  stay,"  said  Len. 

When  she  had  gone  Len  turned  to  Hobdy  and  asked, 
"Do  you  know  a  man  named  Honeycut?" 

The  old  man  stared  at  Len  and  replied,  "Yas,  damn 
him!" 

"You  don't  seem  to  like  him." 

"He's  er  good  man  in  his  place,"  said  Hobdy. 

"Where  is  his  place?" 

"In  hell!"  the  old  man  exclaimed. 

"The  other  day,  while  I  looked  at  Honeycut,"  Len 
remarked,  "I  wondered  how  any  woman  could  ever  love 
him." 

"Who  said  any  woman  loved  him?" 

"Nobody,  but  I  thought  that  he  might,  after  a  while, 
get  married.  I  don't  see,  though,  how  any  father  could 
ever  give  his  consent  to — " 


LEN  GANSETT.  133 

The  old  man,  uttering  a  violent  oath,  turned  upon  his 
visitor,  and  said: — 

"Thar's  a  damn  sight  ub  things  yer  don't  see.  Whut 
makes  yer  talk  thater  way  ter  me,  say?" 

"Oh,  I  was  merely  expressing  my  opinion  with  regard 
to— to— " 

"Yer  air  tryin'  ter  pry  inter  suthin'  that  don'  con- 
carn  yer,  young  feller.  Why  do  yer  wanter  come  roun' 
here  'spressin'  sich  'pinions  ter  me?" 

"I  am  very  free  in  expressing  my  opinion  of  such  a 
man  as  Honeycut." 

"Yas,  but  whut  ther  hell  do  I  kere,  say?" 

"Of  course  I  didn't  know  how  you  stood  with  regard 
to  the  man." 

"Do  yer  know  whut  I  believe?" 

"Can't  say  that  I  do." 

"Wall,  I'll  tell  yer.  I  b'l'eve  that  yer  air  er  young 
liar." 

"Then  I  am  fortunate  in  not  being  an  old  one." 

The  old  man  cackled,  blew  his  nose,  and,  after  a  few 
moments,  said: — 

"Gansett,  I  ruther  like  yer.  Thar's  suthin'  erbout 
yer  that  I  never  seed  erbout  no  other  feller,  but  let  me 
tell  yer,  I  don't  want  yer  ter  talk  ter  me  erbout  that 
feller  Honeycut.  He  makes  my  life  miserable.  With' 
out  him  I  could  laugh  at  ther  rheumatiz,  but  the 
rheumatiz  an'  that  feller  tergether  knocks  me." 

"Mr.  Hobdy,  I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  am 
prying  into  your  affairs,  but  let  me  tell  you  that  I  love 
your  daughter.  Hold  on,  now,  and  let  me  get  through. 


134  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

She  has  given  me  to  understand  that  she  is  to  be  the 
wife—" 

"I'll  smack  her  jaws!"  exclaimed  the  old  man. 

"Oh,  no,  don't  do  that.  She  knew  that  I  would  not 
tell  any  one — or  at  least  thought  as  much.  Tell  me 
about  the  matter.  If  Honeycut  has  you  in  his  power, 
we  must — " 

The  old  man  raved.    Len  sat,  quietly  regarding  him. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  Mr.  Hobdy.  It  is  my  idea — 
my  entrancing  dream — to  send  Ned  to  school,  and  then, 
at  the  proper  time,  if  she  loves  me,  marry  her.  Don't 
rave  so.  Act  like  a  man.  It  would  be  an  unpardonable 
sin  to  sacrifice  that  child.  Come,  now,  sit  down  and 
calm  yourself.  Make  haste,  for  Ned  will  be  back  pretty 
soon." 

The  old  man  had  arisen  and  was  hobbling  about  the 
room.  At  one  time  he  seized  his  crutch  and  drew  it 
back  as  though  he  would  strike  his  visitor,  but  Len,  not 
in  the  least  disturbed,  calmly  looked  at  him. 

"Sit  down.  If  you  continue  to  cut  such  capers  the 
rheumatism  will  come  down  on  you  like  a  wolf  on  the 
fold." 

The  old  man  sat  down.  Len  continued:  "In  thus 
holding  out  against  a  course  which  reason  suggests,  you 
do  not  exercise  that  strong  natural  sense  with  which 
nature  seems  to  have  endowed  you." 

"Air  yer  in  earnest,  Gansett?"  the  old  man  asked. 

"Of  course  I  am.  What  object  could  I  have  in  know 
ing  your  secret  if — " 

"Wall,  wall,  I'll  tell  yer,  but  don't  never  let  Honey- 
cut  find  it  out.  Mebbe  as  smart  er  young  feller  as  you 


LEN  GANSETT.  135 

air  could  he'p  me.    Lemme  think  a  minit.    Watch  out 
fur  Ned." 

For  a  few  moments  he  sat  in  silence.  Then,  with 
brightened  countenance,  he  began  to  tell  his  story. 
"Erbout  nine  years  ergo,"  said  he,  "thar  lived  in  this 
neighborhood  a  feller  named  Jim  Buck.  Me  an'  Jim 
wa'n't  friends.  We  had  er  fallin'  out  wunst  erbout  some 
cattle.  I  cotch  him  er-pullin'  down  my  fence  an'  er- 
turnin'  'em  inter  my  co'n  fiel'.  I  rushed  up  ter  him  ter 
whale  him,  an'  he  snatched  out  a  navy  six  an'  told  me 
ter  dig  dirt,  an'  I  dug.  Couldn't  do  nothin'  else.  'Fore 
I  dug,  though,  I  tole  him  that  I'd  see  him  ergin.  That 
evenm'  he  writ  er  letter  ter  me,  sayin'  that  he  didn't 
want  no  trouble  with  me.  1  answered  the  letter  as  best 
I  could,  an'  told  him  that  I  wuz  goin'  ter  shoot  him  on 
sight.  Erbout  three  days  airter  that,  I  wuz  goin'  'long 
ther  fence  by  ther  ole  Abner  Cummins  place  an'  ther 
fust  thing  I  knowed  I  heard  a  gun  go  off.  I  'lowed,  uv 
co'se,  that  some  feller  wuz  er  huntin'  squirrels,  an'  didn't 
pay  no  'tention  ter  it,  tell  all  uv  er  sudden  I  come  up 
ter  Jim  Buck,  layin'  dead.  While  I  stood  lookin'  at 
him,  who  should  come  up  but  Honeycut.  'Whut  made 
yer  kill  him?'  says  he.  'I  never  done  it/  I  said.  'Wall, 
now/  Honeycut  went  on;  'me  an'  him  wuz  fust-rate 
frien's,  an'  ther  tuther  day  he  showed  me  a  letter  whar 
yer  said  yer  wuz  gwine  ter  shoot  him  on  sight,  an'  I've 
got  ther  letter  right  here  in  my  pocket  an'  it's  ernuff  ter 
hang  yer  on.'  I  could  er  killed  Honeycut  as  free  as  look 
at  him,  but  strange  ter  say  I  had  forgot  my  pistol.  I 
saw  that  he  had  me,  an'  I  begged  him  ter  gin  me  ther 
letter,  but  he  wouldn't  do  it.  He  said  that  ef  I  would 


136  LEN  GANSETT. 

berhave  merself  he  wouldn't  tell  on  me.  I  didn't  know 
whut  else  ter  do,  an'  I  promised  ter  berhave.  He  said 
he  would  hafter  have  er  little  change  now  an'  then,  'an' 
say/  said  he,  'thar's  one  thing  yerVe  got  ter  un'erstan'. 
When  that  little  gal  uv  yourn  comes  uv  age,  I  want 
her/  I  'gun  ter  cuss,  but  it  wa'n't  no  use.  'I'll  see  that 
yer  don't  git  erway  frum  me,'  he  said,  'an'  ter  keep  yer 
frum  hurtin'  me  I'll  sw'ar  out  er  peace  warrant  ergin 
yer.'  Then  he  went  erway,  an'  sorer  than  er  stone  bruise 
I  went  home.  The  coroner  hil  er  inquest,  but  couldn't 
find  out  who  done  ther  killin'.  Nobody,  not  even  ther 
nigger  that  had  fotch  me  ther  letter  frum  Buck,  knowed 
that  thar  wuz  any  diffunce  betwixt  us.  Sence  then 
Honeycut  has  tuck  erbout  all  ther  money  I  could  rake 
an'  scrape.  Many  er  time  I  have  thought  erbout  killin' 
him,  but  he  has  tuck  purticular  pains  ter  tell  folks  that 
I  would  like  ter  kill  him  'cause  Ned  loved  him.  Life 
is  sweet,  Mr.  Gansett,  even  ter  er  ole  man  that's  got  ther 
rheumatiz.  I  have  studied  over  it  till  I  am  almos'  crazy, 
an'  I  don't  know  what  ter  do.  What  do  yer  think  uv 
it?" 

"It  is  a  desperate  state  of  affairs,"  Len  replied;  "but 
the  girl  must  be  saved." 

"But  how?  If  we  try  to  save  her  I  will  be  hung  fur 
murder.  It  won't  do  ter  say  nothin'  ter  Honeycut  erbout 
it —  Here  comes  Ned.  Yas,  ther  sheep  in  this  here 
country  don't  'peer  ter —  Git  ther  milk?" 

"Didn't  have  none,  dad." 

"They  never  have  none  when  we  want  it." 

"Mr.  Len,"  said  the  girl,  "I  thought  yer  would  be 
gone  ag'in'  I  got  back,  J)ut  yer  ain't." 


LEN  GANSETT.  137 

"Were  you  in  hopes  that  I  would  be  gone?" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  say  that.  The  day  is  so  bright  I  don't 
see  how  a  body  can  stay  in  ther  house." 

"Well/  said  Len,  arising,  "I  must  go.  When  you  get 
able,  Mr.  Hobdy,  I'd  like  to  see  you  over  at  grandpa's; 
and,  Ned,  as  you  are  able — " 

"Oh,  I'm  comin'  over  airter  while.     Good-by." 

After  going  some  distance  Len  looked  back  Ned  was 
standing  in  the  door,  watching  him. 

"That  child,"  mused  the  young  man,  "makes  this 
whole  neighborhood  bright.  She  is  the  most  beautiful 
creature  in  the  world.  Honeycut — I  am  almost  sorry 
that  I  did  not  kill  him  when  I  threw  him  over  the  bluff. 
Old  man  Hobdy  is  weak." 

He  turned  into  the  country  road  and  had  gone  some 
distance  when  some  one  called  out: — 

"Hole  on  an'  wait  fur  good  comp'ny." 

Len  looked  around  and  saw  Honeycut  approaching. 
He  did  not  stop  and  "wait  fur  good  comp'ny,"  but 
Honeycut  soon  overtook  him. 

"Whicher  way,  Mr.  Gansett?" 

"This  way." 

"Yas,  so  I  see.    Hobdy's  well  as  usual,  I  reckon." 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Ah,  hah!  Ain't  changed  yer  notion  'bout  tendin' 
that  fiel'?" 

"No." 

"That's  what  I  'lowed,  but  yer'd  better.  Cuckleburrs 
grows  down  thar  thicker'n  ha'r  on  er  dog's  back — an' 
hot,  w'y  it's  the  hottest  place  on  re-cord.  Whut  do  yer 
say?" 


138  LEN  GANSETT. 

"I  say  that  I  am  going  to  cultivate  the  field." 

"Sho'  'miff?" 

"I  don't  mind  cocklehurrs  and  hot  weather." 

"Sho'  'miff?" 

Len  made  no  reply,  but  gave  Honeycut  a  contempt 
uous  glance. 

"Don't  yer  think  times  air  gittin'  harder  ever'  year?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Thought  yer  wuz  putty  well  up  in  sich  matters." 

"I'm  not." 

"Sho'  'nuff?" 

"Look  here,  this  conversation  is  very  uninteresting 
to  me." 

"Say  it  is?  Wall,  I  never  wuz  much  uv  er  talker, 
nohow.  Didn't  go  ter  school  much  when  I  wuz  er  boy. 
Mout  uv  gone,  but  ther  old  man  didn't  have  much 
money.  Say,  have  they  warned  yer  ter  work  on  ther 
road  yit?" 

"No." 

"Wall,  they'll  be  airter  yer.  They  don't  furgit.  Turn 
down  thiser  way,  eh?  Wall,  it's  erbout  as  nigh  fur  me." 

"I  don't  want  your  company,  Honeycut,  and — " 

"Oh,  I  ain't  goin'  ter  pester  yer,  young  feller.  I  ain't 
never  pestered  nobody  yit." 

"Certainly  not,"  Len  replied.  "You  are  one  of  the 
most  innocent  men  I  have  ever  met." 

"Thank  yer  fur  ther  comperment." 

"You  are  entirely  welcome,  I  assure  you.  Who  was 
with  you  when  you  whipped  Mort  Haney?" 

"Now,  look  ahere,  Mr.  Gansett,  we  don't  wanter  talk 
erbout  that.  I  thought  that  we  had  sorter  went  inter 


LEN  GANSETT.  139 

er  Agreement  consarnin*  it.  I  am  er  peaceable  sorter 
feller,  I  am,  an'  I  don't  like  fur  er  feller  ter  talk  ter  me 
thater  way.  I've  had  many  er  chance  ter  fight,  an'  I 
never  fit  yet  lessen  it  wuz  ther  time  yerse'f  an'  me  had 
that  little  scrimmage.  We're  all  right,  though.  I 
wouldenter  throwd  yer  over  that  bluff  ef  I  could.  I'm 
one  uv  these  heah  sociable  sorter  fellers." 

"How  much  farther  do  you  go  in  this  direction?" 
Len  asked. 

"Oh,  jest  as  far  as  yer  please." 

"Well,  my  pleasure  in  this  matter  is  somewhat  limited. 
Our  separation,  on  my  part,  will  not  cause  a  moment  of 
regret." 

"Beckon  not.  I  see  that  yer  air  er  feller  that  ken 
stan'  disappointment." 

"Now,  here,  Honeycut,  we  have  gone  far  enough  to 
gether.  You  go  your  way  and  I'll  go  mine.  I  do  not 
care  to  associate  with  you,  and  if  you  force  your  com 
pany  upon  me  you  will  have  cause  to  regret  it.  I  go 
down  this  way.  Don't  follow  me." 


140  LEN  GANSETT. 


XV. 

THE  time  for  planting  the  crops  had  come.  Brush 
heaps  burned  in  the  new-ground  fields.  The  wild-eyed 
hare  sprang  from  her  bed  to  leave  her  young  ones  to  be 
turned  over  by  the  plough.  Along  the  fences,  border 
ing  the  woods  where  the  sun  warmly  shone,  lizards,  with 
startling  rustle,  ran  through  the  dry  leaves;  and,  far 
above,  the  keen-eyed  hawk  sailed  round  and  round, 
watching  the  chickens  that  cackled  in  the  barn-yards. 

Old  Bob  Gansett  rigged  up,  as  he  termed  it,  a  team 
for  Len.  The  team  consisted  of  a  large  one-eyed  horse 
and  a  small  mule.  When  the  young  man  suggested  that 
he  would  prefer  a  more  respectable-looking  outfit,  the 
old  man  replied: — 

"Well,  when  you  wear  this  team  out  I'll  see  if  I  can't 
get  you  a  better  one." 

"You  have  given  the  negroes  good  teams." 

"Do  you  know  why?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you.  A  negro  will  often  abuse  a  sorry- 
lookin'  team,  but  he  takes  a  pride  in  a  good-lookin'  one. 
He  takes  pleasure  in  curryin'  the  mules,  and  in  many 
other  ways  tries  to  outdo  the  other  fellows.  You  have 
too  much  sense  an'  too  much  kindness  o'  heart  to  mis 
treat  anything.  The  nigger  boys  are  about  done 
sproutin'  the  bottom  fiel',  so  you  ken  go  ahead  at  once. 
I've  showed  you  how  to  plough  deep  by  movin'  your 
back-band  forward,  an'  have  in  other  ways  give  you  all 


LEN  GANSETT.  141 

the  necessary  instructions;  so  now  put  that  old  shoe  on 
the  p'int  o'  yo'  plough,  to  keep  it  from  gouging  up  the 
road,  an'  go  ahead/' 

To  Len  the  work  was  novel,  but  with  his  strong  arms 
and  quickness  of  understanding  he  soon  "got  the  hang 
of  the  thing."  The  turning  soil,  when  he  gazed  long  at 
it,  made  his  head  swim,  hut  when  he  looked  away,  and 
saw  the  birds  chattering  on  the  fence,  he  felt  a  thrill  of 
pleasure.  The  head  swimming  passed  away,  but  the 
pleasure  of  gazing  at  fair  nature,  just  aroused  from  a 
long  nap,  grew  less.  His  arms  grew  tired  and  his  legs 
began  to  ache.  Would  the  dinner-horn  never  blow?  He 
thought  that  he  would  sit  down  and  rest  awhile,  but  just 
as  he  stopped  he  thought  that  his  grandfather  might 
make  fun  of  him,  so  he  clucked  to  his  team  and  resumed 
his  work.  At  last  the  dinner-horn  sounded.  He  had 
often  heard  of  the  music  of  the  dinner-horn,  but  never 
before  had  he  realized  that  an  instrument  without  keys 
could  produce  such  a  thrill. 

"How  are  your  legs?"  the  old  man  asked  when  Len, 
after  feeding  his  team  at  the  barn,  entered  the  house. 

"All  right." 

"Glad  to  hear  it.  Occasionally  I'd  look  over  in  yo' 
direction  to  see  if  you  had  turned  loose  an'  set  down, 
but  I'm  glad  to  know  that  you  didn't.  There's  only 
one  way  to  make  a  man  o'  yourself,  an'  that  is  to  stick 
to  whatever  business  you  undertake.  Come  an'  let's 
eat  a  snack." 

"I  have  noticed,"  said  the  young  man,  looking  up 
from  his  plate  and  addressing  his  gradmother,  "that  the 


142  L*™  GA-N8ETT. 

plough  is  a  forcible  agent  in  behalf  of  hog's  jowl  and  tur 
nip-greens." 

"Ah,  Lord,  child,"  the  old  lady  replied,  "a  honest 
appetite  is  more  to  be  desired  than  gold  an'  fine  linen." 

"Yes,  but  it  is  not  so  much  sought  after,"  Len  re 
joined.  "But  with  me  there  has  always  been  more 
appetite  than  gold." 

"You  are  better  off  for  it,  my  child." 

"Yes,  but  people  sometimes  eat  too  much.  It  would 
be  well  to  mix  gold  and  appetite." 

"People  t|iat  work  hard  don't  hurt  themselves  eatin'. 
I  know  I  never  did;  neither  has  your  gran'pa,  fur  he  ken 
git  outen  bed  at  any  time  o'  night  an'  eat." 

"Len,"  said  Mr.  Gansett,  when  the  young  man  had 
arisen  from  the  table,  "ketch  your  bosses  an'  go  ahead. 
While  the  weather  is  as  good  as  it  is  now  you  must  hump 
'em." 

The  novelty  had  already  worn  away,  and  hard,  uncom 
promising,  laborious  fact  had  taken  its  place. 

"Some  one  with  the  power  of  a  Jashua  must  have 
commanded  the  sun  to  stand  still,"  Len  mused.  "I  am 
certain  that  it  seems  just  as  high  at  it  was  two  hours 
ago.  I'd  like  to  go  over  to  the  river  and  catch  some  fish. 
Catfish  are  biting  now.  I  must  ask  grandma  if  she  does 
not  want  a  mess.  There's  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  Bet 
it  doesn't  rain  for  two  weeks;  but  why  should  I  want  it 
to  rain  when  grandpa  is  so  anxious  to  .get  this  land 
broken  up?  If  he  knew  my  thoughts  he  would  call  me 
lazy,  but  I  don't  see  why  a  man  should  wear  himself  out 
this  way.  Git  up  there!  Getting  tired  too,  eh?  Well, 
you  are  not  more  anxious  to  stop  than  I  am." 


L&N  G  AN  SETT.  143 

For  hours  the  sun  seemed  to  hang  in  the  tops  of  dis 
tant  trees.  Slowly  it  faded,  and  then,  like  a  ball  of  sub 
dued  fire,  it  sank  out  of  sight.  Len  staggered  as  he 
walked  toward  home,  and,  forgetfully,  stepped  over 
imaginary  clods.  He  was  asleep  by  the  time  he  touched 
the  bed,  and  then,  before  turning  over,  his  grandfather 
called  him. 

"Not  time  to  get  up  yet,  is  it?" 

The  old  man  laughed.  "Why,"  said  he,  talking  from 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  "it's  broad  daylight  everywhere." 

"When  you  called  me  I  did  not  think  that  you  had 
gone  to  bed." 

"But  I  have  been  to  bed,  and  I  don't  think  I  ever 
passed  a  longer  night." 

"I  know  that  I  never  passed  so  short  a  night." 

"Well,  hurry  up  and  feed  your  horses  ag'in'  we  git  a 
snack  ready.  We've  played  long  enough,  an'  it's  time  to 
do  sometbin'.  Hurry  up!" 

Len  was  so  stiff  and  sore  that  he  could  scarcely  get  out 
of  bed,  and.at  bfeakfast  he  was  so  sleepy  that  he  could 
hardly  keep  his  eyes  open.  His  work  was  a  painful  drag, 
and  several  times  during  the  day  ne  was  tempted  to  sit 
down  and  rest,  but  the  fear  that  his  grandfather  was 
watching  him  spurred  him  onward. 

How  he  longed  for  Sunday!  "It  used  to  be  a  very  dull 
day  to  me,"  he  mused;  "but  now  it  will  be  a  day  of  en 
joyment." 

Sunday  came  as  usual,  but  to  Len  it  was  not  common 
place.  He  sat  down  in  the  yard  and  lazily  enjoyed  the 
sunshine.  He  leaned  back  against  a  tree  and  dozed  off 


144  LEN  GANSETT. 

to  sleep,  and  had  begun  to  step  over  clods  and  watch. 

the  turning  soil  when  some  one  exclaimed: — 
"Wall,  ef  yer  ain't  lazy!" 
Len  sprang  up.    Ned  Hobdy  stood  near  him. 
"Why,  my  little  girl,  how  do  you  do?" 
"Didn't  I  tell  yer  that  I  wa'n't  er  little  girl?" 
"Yes,  but  you  are  not  a  very  large  girl." 
"I'm  large  enough.    I  come  over  ter  go  ter  meetin' 

with  yer  gran'maw,  an'  I  thought  I'd  walk  erroun'  while 

she  is  gettin'  ready." 

"I  suppose  I  may  go  with  you." 

"I'm  goin'  with  yer  gran'maw." 

"Yes;  but  cannot  I  go  with  both  of  you?" 

"No,  fur  we  don't  want  no  men  folks  with  us." 

Len  insisted,  but  Ned  was  inexorable.     The  young 

man  comforted  himself  with  the  hope  that  after  her 

return  from  church  he  might  walk  home  with  her;  but 

his  grandmother  returned  alone. 

"I  won't  be  outdone/'  the  young  man  mused.    "I  will 

go  over  and  see  her." 

He  hurried  toward  Hobdy's  house,  hoping  to  overtake 

Ned,  but  he  was  disappointed.    He  found  Hobdy  much 

improved  in  health. 

"That  talk  I  had  with  yer  ther  other  day  he'ped  me 

might'ly,"  said  Hobdy.    "I've  had  very  little  cause  ter 

hope  fur  anythin'  in  this  here  world — that  is,  sense  that 

awful  erfair,  an'  now,  even  ter  ketch  holt  uv  er  floatin' 

leaf  keeps  my  head  erbove  water." 
"Where  is  Ned?" 
"Don't  know.    She  wuz  here  jest  er  minit  ergo.    I'll 

step  out  an'  call  her." 


LEN  GANSETT.  145 

He  called,  but  received  no  answer.  "I  don't  know 
whut  could  er  went  with  her  so  quick/'  Hobdy  remarked 
when  he  reentered  the  house. 

Len  thought  that  he  knew,  but  he  did  not  venture  an 
opinion.  He  thought  that  she  had  seen  him  coming  and 
had  fled  into  the  woods.  He  was  disappointed,  heart 
sick. 

"You  have  not  told  me  yet,  Mr.  Hobdy,  whether  you 
would  be  pleased  with  me  as  your  son-in-law." 

.  "Ef  ever-thing  could  be  cleared  up  I'd  be  might'ly 
pleased,  but  thar's  a  heap  in  ther  way  yit.  Ned  is  a 
sorter  curious  girl,  but  she  will  do  jest  as  I  tell  her." 

"Oh,  I  would  not  think  of  marrying  her  unless  I  know 
that  she  loved  me.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Hobdy,  that  I  am 
terribly  in  earnest.  Since  the  first  moment  I  saw  her  a 
bright  picture  has  ever  been  before  me.  She  has  laid  a 
thoughtless  hand  on  my  life,  and  I  must  follow  her." 

"Hanged  ef  yer  don't  pear  ter  be  in  earnest.  Have 
yer  talked  ter  ther  old  folks  erbout  it?" 

"No,  not  particularly.  "Well,"  he  added,  arising,  I'll 
go  out  and  see  if  I  can  find  her." 

The  old  man  did  not  object.  Len  went  into  the 
woods.  He  walked  with  as  little  noise  as  possible.  He 
stopped  when  he  came  to  a  tinkling  little  stream,  flow 
ing,  through  beds  of  moss,  from  a  spring,  and,  looking 
up  the  stream,  he  saw  Ned,  sitting  on  a  rock  with  her 
face  turned  from  him.  He  slowly  and  easily  approached 
her.  She  turned  and  saw  him. 

"Don't  run  away,  Ned!" 

She  had  sprung  to  her  feet,  but  his  voice  was  so  im- 


146  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

ploring  that  she  sat  down  again.  She  suffered  him  to 
take  a  seat  beside  her. 

"Ned,  why  do  you  keep  out  of  my  way?" 

"It  don't  'pear  like  I  do  keep  outen  yer  way." 

"I  mean,  then,  why  do  you  try  to  keep  out  of  my 
way?" 

"I  never  did  want  ter  be  in  er  body's  way." 

"Now,  look  here,  little  girl,  you  know  what  I  mean. 
Didn't  you  see  me  coming  and  run  away?" 

"I  run  part  uv  ther  way  an'  walked  part." 

"Why  did  you  try  to  avoid  me?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  must  not  ask  me  such 
questions,  Mr.  Len.  I  act  the  best  I  ken,  an'  ef  I  don't 
do  ter  please  ever'body  w'y  I  kain't  he'p  it.  Yer*  tend 
like  yer  want  ter  see  me,  but  yer  know  yer  don't." 

"There  is  no  time,  not  a  minute,  when  I  am  not 
delighted  to  see  you." 

She  gave  him  an  incredulous  glance,  shook  her  beau 
tiful  hair,  and  replied: — 

"Oh,  no,  yer  ain't,  an'  yer  kain't  fool  me.  It  ain't 
wuth  while  fur  er  pusson  ez  smart  as  yer  air  to  tell  me 
that  he  likes  ter  see  me  an'  talk  ter  me,  lessen  it  is  that 
he  ken  go  erway  an'  make  fun  uv  me." 

"Ned,  I  wish  you  would  believe  me — " 

"But  somehow  I  kain't.    Won't  yer  1'arn  me  how?" 

"I  wish  that  I  could.  I  would  give  anything,  do  any 
thing,  to  convince  you." 

"Wall,  we  won't  talk  erbout  it.  Yer  gran'maw  told 
me  that  yer  have  'gun  ter  plough." 

"Yes,  I  began  several  days  ago." 

"How  do  yer  like  it?" 


LEN  GANSETT.  147 

"Can't  say  that  I  like  it  very  well,  but  I  suppose  that 
I'll  get  used  to  it  after  awhile.  NecL  wouldn't  you  like 
to  go  to  school?" 

"Uv  co'se  I'd  like  it,  but  how  would  dad  git  along? 
Who'd  wait  on  him  when  his  pains  come  on?" 

"I  suppose  some  one  could  be  hired  to  do  your  work." 

"That  wouldn't  suit  dad,  fur  nobody  ken  please  him 
but  me." 

"That  may  be  true,  but  you  must  think  of  yourself 
as  well  as  of  your  father." 

"Ain't  got  time  ter  think  uv  myself." 

"But  you  must  take  time,  for  there'll  come  a  day  when 
you'll  wish  you  had.  You  can't  live  this  way  always." 

"Kain't  live  no  way  allus,"  she  mischievously  replied. 

"No,  and  you  should  not  want  to  live  this  way  any 
longer  than  can  be  helped.  If  your  father  should  get 
well,  and  it  now  seems  likely  that  he  may,  he  will  not 
need  to  be  waited  on." 

"When  he  gits  well  I'll  think  erbout  goin'  ter  school, 
but  I  kain't  think  erbout  it  now." 

"But  by  the  time  he  gets  entirely  well  it  may  be  too 
late  for  you  to  go  to  school." 

"Why  air  yer  so  anxious  fur  me  ter  go  ter  school? 
Am  I  so  awful  ignunt?" 

"Oh,  no,  you  are  not  ignorant,  but  the  brightest  per 
sons  in  the  world  must  go  to  school." 

"Ter  keep'  em  frum  talkin'  like  er  nigger?" 

"No,  not  exactly  that,  but  to  broaden  their  minds." 

"I  believe,  Mr.  Len,  that  I  could  1'axn  ef  I  had  er 
chance." 


148  LEN  GANSETT. 

"I  know  you  could.  Your  mind  is  as  bright  as  a 
ray  of  sunlight." 

After  a  few  moments  of  serious  reflection,  reflection 
that  clouded  her  face,  she  said,  "But  what  is  the  use  of 
sich  hopes?  A  few  years  frum  now  an'  I'll  hafter  marry 
Honeycut." 

"Not  while  I  am  alive,"  Gansett  exclaimed. 

"0  Mr.  Len!" 

"I  mean  it.    You  shall  not  marry  that  wolf." 

"How  can  yer  he'p  it?  What  will  become  of  dad? 
Oh,  I  know  he's  got  some  awful  holt  on  him." 

"Not  as  awful  a  hold  as  he'd  have  on  you  if  you  were 
to  marry  him." 

"His  holt  wouldn't  last  so  long,  fur  I  intend  ter  kill 
myse'f  as  soon  as  I  marry  him.  Then  he  couldn't  do 
nuthin  with  dad,  fur  dad  couldn't  keep  me  frum  killin' 
myse'f." 

"You  must  not  think  that  way.  If  anybody  must  die 
it  must  be  Honeycut." 

"Yer  wouldn't  murder  him,  Mr.  Len." 

"No,  I  would  give  him  every  opportunity.  I  would 
compel  him  to  fight  me." 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  she  quickly  exclaimed.  "He  might  kill 
yer!" 

"I  would  rather  be  dead  than  to  see  you  his  wife." 

"But  yer  bein'  killed  wouldn't  save  me,  don't  yer  see?" 

"Yes,  that's  true;  but  I  don't  intend  to  get  killed. 
Perhaps  I  may  persuade  him  to  leave  the  country.  I 
see  that  Colonel  Bently  has  a  great  deal  of  influence  over 
him.  Perhaps  the  colonel  will  assist  me." 


LEN  GANSETT.  149 

"Oh,  yer  mus'n't  let  ther  colonel  know  anything 
erbout  it/' 

"I  wouldn't  let  him  into  any  of  our  secrets,  but  would 
tell  him  to  send  Honeycut  away,  making  him  promise 
never  to  come  back  again." 

Len  had  no  faith  in  this  rather  romantic  view,  but 
he  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  say  anything  that  would  in 
the  least  tend  to  brighten  the  girl's  prospects. 

"Now,  Ned,  let  me  ask  you  the  same  question  which 
I  asked  you  just  now.  "Why  do  you  try  to  keep  away 
from  me?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"Yes,  you  do.    Is  it  because  you  do  not  like  me?" 

"No,  no." 

"Then  you  do  like  me,  do  you?" 

"I  kain't  keep  from  likin'  yer.    Everybody  likes  yer." 

"Like  me!    Is  that  all?" 

"Ain't  that  ernuff?" 

"No,  it  is  not  enough." 

"I  thought  it  was." 

"When  did  you  think  so?" 

"All  the  time." 

"Do  you  think  of  me  all  the  time?" 

She  looked  pleadingly  at  him.    "I  must  go,"  she  said. 

"Not  now,"  he  replied,  taking  her  hand.  "Tell  me 
how  much  you  think  of  me  and  then  you  may  go." 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  and  said,  "I  love  yer,  an* 
love  yer,  an'  love  yer,  all  ther  time." 

She  jumped  down  from  the  rock  and  ran  away. 


150  LEN  OANSETT. 


XVI. 

MR.  MANGUS  DOCKERY,  editor  and  proprietor  of  the 
"Picket/'  sat  in  his  office  deeply  pondering  over  an 
exact  piece  of  wording  which  he  was  spreading  on  a 
sheet,  torn  from  one  side  of  a  paper  hag.  He  did  not 
omit  the  appliances,  or  rather  the  necessary  perform 
ances,  incident  to  a  great  literary  strain,  for  he  would 
occasionally  frown  like  the  corrugated  elbow  of  a  stove 
pipe,  would  scratch  his  head,  and  nibble  the  end  of  his 
pencil. 

"Think  I've  got  it  all  right/'  he  mused.  "I'll  copy 
it  in  ink  to  make  it  more  binding.  Let  me  see  how  it 
reads: — 

To  our  worthy  townsman,  Mangus  DocTcery: — 

DEAR  SIK — There  are  times  when  all  good  citizens  think 
deeply  and  wisely  of  legislation,  and  particularly  of  that 
legislation  directly  relative  to  their  own  community.  For 
some  time  we  have  been  casting  about  in  an  endeavor  to 
find  suitable  timber  for  the  coming  session  of  the  legis 
lature.  We  could  not  agree,  and  were  sorely  perplexed 
until  we  became  of  one  mind,  and  that  unity  of  mind,  sir, 
was  our  determination  to  ask  you  to  come  out  as  our  can 
didate.  We  are  aware  of  the  fact  that  you  have  many 
duties  and  responsibilities  devolving  upon  you  as  an  editor, 
and  that  much  experience  and  wisdom  is  necessary  to  the 
safe  conduct  of  a  newspaper,  but  we  also  know  good  editors 
are  much  more  plentiful  than  good  legislators.  You  might 
sell  your  paper  to  advantage,  or  might  suspend  it  during  the 
session  of  the  legislature.  An  early  reply  will  greatly 
oblige, 

Vox  POPULI. 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  151 

"That  will  do  first-rate,"  the  editor  mused  as  he  pro 
ceeded  to  copy  the  "call."  "I  must  disguise  my  hand 
for  some  incredulous  fool  might  ask  me  to  show  up. 
The  great  fault  of  the  American  people  is  their  unbe 
lief."  When  he  had  copied  the  "call"  he  shoved  back 
his  chair  and  said,  "I  must  answer  this  thing.  It  is 
better  to  strike  before  the  iron  is  hot  enough  than  it 
is  to  wait  until  the  iron  gets  too  cold.  Those  gentlemen, 
evidently  the  best  citizens  in  the  county,  are  con 
ferring  a  great  favor  upon  me,  and  it  would  not  be 
courteous  to  delay  my  reply." 

At  the  conclusion  of  an  hour's  hard  work  he  had  pro 
duced  the  following: 

Vox  Populi,  gentlemen  and  fellow-citizens: — 

I  have  maturely  considered  the  call  which  you  have  been 
pleased  to  make  upon  me.  I  am  at  a  loss  as  to  why  you 
selected  me,  for,  as  you  doubtless  well  know,  I  have  never 
entertained  a  political  aspiration.  I  have  always  thought 
the  responsibilities  attendant  upon  the  discharge  of  legis 
lative  duties  to  be  too  great  for  me,  even  though  I  recognize 
the  fact  that  without  a  deep  feeling  of  responsiblity  there 
can  be  no  thorough,  conscientious  work.  I  have  ever  been 
a  modest  man,  living  in  a  modest  way,  and  I  was  in  hopes 
that  I  might  be  permitted  to  remain  in  my  position  of  semi- 
obscurity;  but,  fellow-citizens,  if  it  be  the  will  of  the  people 
that  I  should  go  forth  to  fight  their  battles,  I  will  throw 
personal  interests  aside,  buckle  on  my  armor,  and  sub 
missively  hearken  to  the  voice  of  my  countrymen. 

"That's  not  bad,"  said  the  scribe,  contemplating  with 
an  air  of  satisfaction  the  work  which  he  had  accom 
plished.  "If  this  don't  place  me  on  a  sure  footing  I 
don't  know  what  will.  Come  in!"  he  exclaimed,  spread- 


152  LEN  GANSETT. 

ing  a  newspaper  over  the  "call"  and  reply.  ."Why, 
helloa,  Len  Gansett!  Come  in.  I  was  just  thinking 
about  you/'  Dockery  added  as  he  and  Len  shook  hands. 
"What  are  you  doing  over  in  this  part  of  the  country?" 

"Nothing,  particularly.  The  ground  is  too  wet  to 
plough,  and — " 

"Yes,  and  you've  got  a  day  off.  Glad  to  see  you. 
Wish  I  could  get  a  day  off,  my  dear  fellow,  but  I  cannot. 
With  me  it  is  to  work  all  the  time,  and  when  Sunday 
comes  I  am  too  tired  to  rest.  Have  you  heard  the 
news?" 

"No." 

"Stage  robbed  again  last  night." 

"You  don't  say  so?" 

"That's  exactly  what  I  do." 

"Was  there  much  loss?" 

"Several  thousand  dollars." 

"Has  Colonel  Bently  heard  of  it?" 

"Yes,  one  of  the  boys  went  over  and  told  him  shortly 
after  the  stage  arrived." 

"He  was  deeply  affected,  of  course." 

"Hurt  him,  but  he  said  very  little  in  the  presence  of 
the  messenger,  but  when  he  went  into  an  adjoining 
room  he  swore  like  a  sailor.'3 

"I  am  sorry  for  him,"  said  Len. 

"So  am  I;  but  it  can't  be  helped." 

"Has  there  been  any  attempt  to  catch  the  robbers?" 

"Yes,  the  sheriff  and  a  party  of  fellows  started  out, 
caught  up  with  the  robbers,  shot  at  them  and  chased 
them  until  about  daylight  and  then  lost  them.  But  I've 
got  something  of  more  importance  than  the  robbery." 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  153 

"You  must  be  going  to  get  married." 

"No,  sir.  Eead  this,"  lifting  the  newspaper  and  hand 
ing  him  the  "call." 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"I  don't  know.     What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"Well,"  said  Dockery,  after  a  few  moments'  reflection. 
"I  think  that  it  is  pretty  devilish  strong.  I  have  seen 
many  a  call,  and  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  saw  one  more 
to  the  point  than  this  one." 

"You  are  going  to  reply  to  it,  of  course." 

"Eeply  to  it — why,  my  dear  fellow,  I  have  replied  to 
it.  Here,  read  this." 

"That  does  very  well,"  Len  remarked  when  he  had 
read  the  reply. 

"Now  you're  talking,  Gansett." 

"Have  you  any  idea  who  wrote  the  call,  Dockery?" 

"None  whatever;  but  I  know  that  it  must  have  come 
from  a  number  of  prominent  citizens." 

"Did  it  come  through  the  post-office?" 

"Yes." 

"Let  me  see  the  envelope." 

"What  did  I  do  with  it?"  feeling  his  coat  pockets.  "1 
am  quite  certain  that  I  had  it  a  moment  ago.  Humph, 
what  could  have  become  of  it?" 

"Dockery,  are  you  quite  sure  that  it  came  in  an 
envelope?" 

"What?  Sure  of  it?  Why,  of  course  I  am,  when  I 
tell  you  that  it  came  through  the  post-office!" 

"Oh!" 

"Oh,  what?  Confound  it,  Gansett,  what  is  the  mat 
ter  with  you  to-day?  You  talk  like  a  detective.  Damn  it 


154  LEX  G  AN  SETT. 

what  are  you  laughing  at?  Gansett,  you  may  become  a 
good  farmer,  but  your  chances  of  ever  understanding 
politics  and  the  literary  graces  of  statesmanship  are  slim 
indeed.  Understand,  now,  I  do  not  say  this  in  depre 
ciation  of  your  intellect,  for  you  have  a  strong  mind, — 
even  though  it  lacks  a  certain  sort  of  grasp, — but  say 
it  in  a  way  of  kindly  advice,  so  that  you  may  be  warned 
of  the  numerous  pitfalls  which  are  hidden  along  your 
path.  You—" 

"Your  advice  is  very  good,  Dockery,  but  I  fear  that 
I  have  not  the  grasp  necessary  to  catch  it  at  once.  Sup 
pose  you  write  it  out  in  the  form  of  a  call,  and  let  me 
reply  to  it." 

"Gansett,  you  are  beside  yourself  to-day.  Do  you 
mean  to  insinuate  that  I  did  not — or  rather  that  I  did 
write  this  call?" 

"I  don't  insinuate  it,  old  fellow;  I  simply  know  that" 
you  did/' 

"Len,  if  any  other  living  man  were  to  tell  me  that 
— well,  it  wouldn't  be  good  for  him,  that's  all.  I  am 
astonished  at  you." 

"Don't  let  me  wound  your  feelings,  Dockery.  You 
are  not  the  first  man  who  has  written  a  call  addressed  to 
himself.  You  see  I  have  not  lived  in  the  woods  all  my 
life,  and  am  therefore  somewhat  acquainted  with  men. 
It  is  none  of  my  affair,  of  course;  but  I  don't  want  you 
to  think  that  you  can  humbug  me." 

"Gansett,  you  are  almost  insulting." 

"I  hope  not.    Didn't  you  write  that?" 

"No,  I  didn't.    Now  what  have  you  got  to  say?" 

"Well,"  Len  replied,  "only  that  I  expect  to  take  the 


LEN  GANSETT.  155 

stump  in  favor  of  some  truthful  man,  a  man  who  is  not 
afraid  to  stand  up  and  acknowledge  the  truth." 

"Now,  look  here,  Len,  you  couldn't  go  against  me." 

"Well,  you  heard  what  I  said." 

"Let  me  tell  you,  Gansett,  that  I  am  not  afraid  to 
acknowledge  the  truth.  I  own  that  I  knew  this  call  was 
going  to  be  written." 

"Now  you  are  getting  down  to  facts." 

"Yes,  I  own  that,  and — but  this  is  confidential — I 
acknowledge  that  I  read  the  call  before  it  was  sent 
through  the  mail.  Now,  here,  Gansett,  I  believe  that 
I  can  make  a  confidant  of  you.  It  did  not  come  through 
the  mail.  Len/' — sinking  his  voice  to  a  whisper, — "I 
wrote  it." 

"That's  what  I  thought." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  did,"  the  editor  continued,  "and 
I'll  tell  you  why.  A  man  of  ability  might  stay  forever 
in  this  country,  might  wear  out  his  mental  and  physical 
self  in  promoting  the  general  welfare  of  the  people,  and 
yet  they  would  stand  quietly  by  and  see  him  go  unre 
warded.  Therefore,  realizing  that  I  deserve  reward,  and 
knowing  that  no  one  is  disposed  to  take  the  lead  in  re 
warding  me,  I  decided  to  take  it  myself.  Don't  give 
your  old  friend  away,  my  dear  boy,  and  rest  assured 
that  when  I  am  elected  I  will  discharge  my  duty.  Do 
you  know  what  I  am  going  to  do?  I  am  going  to  save  the 
tax-payers  thousands  of  dollars  by  pasing  a  bill  reducing 
the  salaries  of  State  officers.  The  people  are  burdened 
with  taxation,  and  it  is  my  ambition  to  come  to  their 
relief.  That's  my  ticket,  and  I  think  it  will  win.  Oh, 
they've  got  a  race-horse  on  the  track  this  time, — not  a 


156  LEN  GAlfSETT. 

dark  horse,  but  a  horse  that  ain't  afraid  of  the  sunlight. 
What  do  you  say?  Hold  on;  somebody's  at  the  door. 
Come  in!" 

Colonel  Bently  entered  the  office.  He  shook  hands 
with  Len  and  Dockery,  and  sat  down  on  a  home-made 
chair  which  the  editor  brought  for  him. 

"Have  any  of  the  robbers  been  captured,  colonel?" 
Len  asked. 

"JSTot  that  I  know.  It  seems  useless  to  attempt  to  do 
anything.  The  rascals,  after  doing  their  work,  can  fly 
to  the  river-bottoms  and  find  a  secure  retreat  among  the 
cane.  I  have  decided  to  advertise  my  stage-coaches — 
I  have  but  two — and  horses  for  sale.  I  cannot  stand  to 
be  harassed  in  this  way.  Perhaps  the  officers  do  their 
best,  but  their  best  is  very  poor.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  am  disgusted." 

"My  dear  colonel,"  said  Dockery,  "don't  sell  out. 
The  country  is  improving  all  the  time,  and  after  a  while 
there  will  be  no  trouble.  I  have  received  a  call,  from 
many  prominent  citizens,  asking  me  to  run  for  the  legis 
lature.  If  elected,  I  shall  introduce  a  bill  entitled  a  bill 
for  an  act  for  the  better  protection  of  stage  lines.  Don't 
give  up,  my  dear  colonel,  for  day  is  breaking.  We  have 
been  groping  a  long  time  in  the  night,  but  a  glow  in  the 
east  tells  us  that  the  sun  is  rising.  I  do  not  think  I 
speak  boastfully  when  I  say  that  my  political  chances 
cause  the  sun  to  rise  for  this  county.  You  smile  in 
credulously.  Unbelief,  colonel,  is  leading  this  country 
to  everlasting  ruin/' 

"Well,  Dockery,"  the  colonel  replied,  "if  you  run  we 
will  all  support  you/' 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  157 

Dockery  sprang  to  his  feet,  seized  the  colonel's  hand, 
and  exclaimed:  "Noble  words,  nobly  spoken!  I  knew 
that  I  could  count  on  your  support,  for  I  have  ever 
known  you  to  be  a  man  who  believes  in  bestowing  reward 
upon  him  who  deserves  it.  Now  'sir,  to  show  you  how 
much  I  appreciate  your  abilities,  I  open  my  columns  to 
you,  with  the  request  that  you  express  yourself  with 
regard  to  my  general  fitness  for  the  position." 

"Gansett  might  help  you,  too,"  the  colonel  suggested. 

"Help  me!"  Dockery  exclaimed;  "why,  I  should  say 
that  he  can.  My  young  friend  is  a  writer,  a  writer  with 
force  and  integrity.  Turn  loose,  Len,  and  make  a  man 
of  yourself.  Oh,  you  can  do  it!  With  a  little  practice 
your  style  will  blossom  like  the  rose;  and,  above  all 
other  composition,  political  writing  is  best  calculated 
to  awaken  vigor  of  thought  and  logic.  Wait,  gentlemen, 
until  this  call  is  published  and  then  turn  yourselves 
loose." 

"Well,"  said  the  colonel,  arising,  "I  must  go.  I  came 
over  to  see  if  the  sheriff  had  done  anything,  and  now, 
failing  to  learn  that  he  has,  I  shall  return  no  wiser  than 
when  I  came.  Len,  I  have  my  buggy;  won't  you  ride 
with  me?  Come  on!  I'm  in  need  of  company." 

After  vigorously  shaking  hands  with  the  confident 
candidate, — and  what  candidate  is  not  confident? — the 
two  men  withdrew. 

"Says  he  has  a  call  from  many  prominent  citizens," 
said  the  colonel,,  as  he  and  Len  rode  along.  "Do  you 
know  who  those  prominent  citizens  are?" 

"I  think  so,"  Len  replied. 


158  LEN  GANSETT. 

"I  know,"  the  colonel  rejoined.  "They  are  Mr.  Man- 
gus  Dockery." 

"I  think  that  you  are  right." 

"I  know  it.'-' 

"What  are  his  chances?" 

"Oh,  we  can't  tell.  After  all,  I  don't  know  but  he'll 
do  as  well  as  any  one  we  can  select.  He  is  not  a  bad 
fellow." 

"Were  you  in  earnest  about  supporting  him?" 

"Yes,  for,  as  I  tell  you,  he'll  do  as  well  as  any  one. 
Let  us  turn  out  and  give  the  fellow  a  chance.  He  is 
not  inseparably  linked  to  the  truth,  but  I  don't  believe 
that  he  is  dishonest.  How  do  you  like  farming?" 

"I  can't  say  that  I  like  it  very  well." 

"How  would  you  like  to  run  a  weekly  paper, — the 
Ticket/  for  instance?" 

"I  would  like  it." 

"Well,  if  Dockery  goes  to  the  legislature,  you  may 
take  charge  of  the  paper." 

"He  might  prefer  to  place  it  in  other  hands." 

"I  think  not.  The  office  belongs  to  me,  and  if  you 
will  consent  to  take  charge  of  it  I'll  put  in  new  type,  a 
better  press,  and  employ  a  good  printer.  There  are 
people  enough  in  this  country  to  support  a  good  paper, 
and  I  believe  that  you  can  make  a  readable  sheet.  In 
consideration  of  his  place  in  the  legislature,  Dockery 
will  willingly  give  up  the  paper.  What  do  you  say?" 

"I  must  say  that  I  am  delighted  with  the  idea." 

"All  right.  With  this  understanding  I  will  go  out 
and  make  speeches  for  Dockery  when  the  time  comes. 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  159 

My  main  object,  Len,  is  to  help  you  along.  I  see  that 
you  are  a  young  man  of  ability — well,  I  like  you." 

"Colonel,  I  don't  know  how  to  express  my  thanks." 

"Don't  try.  I  shall  be  rewarded  if  you  make  a  good 
paper." 

"I  will  endeavor  to  do  that.  I  think  that  I  can  soon 
learn  to  set  type,  and  then  the  office  will  not  be  so  ex 
pensive.  Hold  on!  I  get  out  here.  Well,  good-day!" 

The  young  man's  soul  was  full  of  a  thrilling  thought, 
— the  thought  that  the  printing-office  might  be  made  a 
school  for  Ned  Hobdy. 


160  LEN  GANSETT. 


XVII. 

HOT  weather  came.  Len  struggled  manfully  to  keep 
the  cockleburrs  subdued,  but  they  grew  like  Jonah's 
gourd-vine.  Far  down  the  corn-rows  the  hot  air  danced, 
and  the  buffalo-gnats,  with  their  annoying  sting, 
swarmed  under  the  trees.  The  bell  cow  and  the  scrub 
calf  ran  with  desperate  rush  through  the  bushes,  and 
the  horse,  with  a  sudden  start  of  terror,  wildly  threw  up 
his  head  as  the  nit  fly  "zipped"  him  under  his  throat. 
Would  it  never  rain?  Dust  arose  in  the  field,  and  the 
blades  of  the  corn  were  twisted  like  ropes.  One  eve 
ning  the  sun  went  down  behind  a  murky  bank  of  clouds, 
and  in  the  night  Len  was  awakened  by  a  down-pour  of 
rain.  The  next  morning  everything  was  fresh.  The 
roses  in  the  yard,  no  longer  depressed  by  thirst,  held  up 
their  glowing  lips  in  perfumed  pout,  and  the  cedar- 
trees,  which  yesterday  bore  wart-like  buttons,  were  now 
ladened  with  fungus  knots,  resembling  great  yellow 
spiders. 

"Too  wet  to  plough  to-day,  Lenqubees,"  said  Mr. 
Gansett,  as  the  family  sat  at  the  breakfast  table. 

"I'm  glad  it  is,"  observed  Mrs.  Gansett.  "I'm  jest 
glad  it  is,  for  Len  has  mighty  nigh  worked  himself  to 
death  in  that  bottom  field.  Ah,  Lord,  child,  you'll  find 
the  life  o'  a  farmer  a  mighty  hard  one.  Your  po'  father 
uster  say  that  he  would  quite  it  jest  as  soon  as  he  got 
three  times  seven,  an'  he  did." 


LEN  GANSETT.  161 

"Yes/'  the  old  man  replied,  "an*  ef  lie  had  stuck  to  it 
he  mout  o'  been  alive  yit." 

"Now,  Bob  Gansett,  what's  the  use'n  talkin'  that 
way?  The  Lord,  in  his  own  good  time,  called  our  son, 
an'  no  matter  where  he  might  'a'  been  he  would  have 
had  to  go.  Len,  it  sometimes  'peers  to  me  that  your 
gran'pa  is  a  inferdel.  He  gits  wus  and  wus  all  the 
time/' 

Old  Bob  winked  at  Len.  The  old  lady  continued: 
"The  last  time  Brother  Murry  was  here  it  was  all  I  could 
do  to  keep  your  grandpa  in  the  house  while  Brother 
Murry  prayed." 

The  old  man  winked  again,  and  said,  "I  like  to  hear  a 
good  prayer,  Sarah;  but  it  strikes  me  that  Murry's  got 
more  appetite  than  religion." 

"I  reckon  the  old  apostles  had  to  eat/* 

"Yes,  but  they  didn't  go  'round  the  country  for  that 
special  purpose." 

"Oh!"  with  a  sigh,  "I  know  you  would  muzzle  the  ox 
that  treadeth  out  the  grain." 

"It's  all  right  about  the  ox  that  treadeth  out  the 
grain,  Sarah.  I  don't  want  to  muzzle  him;  but  then  I 
don't  think  it's  right  to  take  the  halter  off  of  a  calf  an' 
turn  him  in  the  field." 

"Bob  Gansett,  you  sha'n't  compare  Brother  Murry  to 
a  calf,  for  I  won't  have  it.  Just  look  how  he  has  built 
up  the  circuit  sence  he  come  here." 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  well  enough.  He's  built  one  log- 
house  and  patched  up  another,  and — well,  he's  done  well 
enough.  He's  a  good,  strong,  healthy  man,  and  gene 
rally  eats  what  is  set  before  him.  If  he'd  take  that 


162  LEN  GANSETT. 

appetite  o*  hisn  to  some  big  town  he  could  sell  it  for 
enough  money  to  build  several  churches." 

"For  the  goodness'  sake,  hush!  If  I  didn't  have  no 
mo'  religion  than  you  let  on  like  you've  got  I'd  stop 
goin'  to  church.  Len,  have  another  cup  of  coffee.  It'll 
be  a  long  time  till  dinner." 

"It  won't  be  so  long  to-day,  grandma/'  Len  replied. 
"It's  too  wet  to  plough/' 

Old  man  Gansett  laughed.  Mrs.  Gansett,  slowly 
shaking  her  head,  remarked: — 

"Your  gran'pa  would  like  to  see  ever'body  work 
themselves  to  death.  It's  a  wonder  he  ain't  wore  him 
self  out  to  a  frazzle  long  ago.  I  reckon  you'll  be  glad 
when  you  git  to  printin'  your  newspaper." 

"TTes,"  Len  replied,  "I  must  say  that  I  am  looking 
forward  to  the  time  with  more  than  usual  interest." 

"I  am  sorry  to  lose  such  a  good  hand,"  said  the  old 
man,  this  time  winking  at  his  wife;  "but  if  you  must 
go  I  reckon  you  must." 

"Don't  let  him  worry  you,  grandma,"  Len  rejoined. 
"He  and  I  have  talked  over  the  matter  and  thoroughly 
understand  each  other." 

Sometime  had  elapsed  since  Colonel  Bently  had 
spoken  of  the  newspaper  project,  yet  Len  had  not  told 
Ne4  Hobdy  of  his  hope  that  she  would  consent  to  work, 
or  rather  study,  in  the  office.  He  ha4  seen  her  several 
times,  but  had  not  been  blessed  with  an  opportunity  of 
explaining  the  plan  which  lay  so  near  his  heart.  Im 
mediately  after  breakfast  he  set  out  for  Hobdy's  house. 
As  usual  he  found  Ned  in  the  woods.  She  advanced  to 
meet  him,  but  he  failed  to  find  the  wonted  light  of  glad- 


LEN  GANSETT.  163 

ness  in  her  beautiful  eyes.  She  suffered  him  to  take 
her  hand  and  permitted  him  to  kiss  her. 

"What's  the  matter,  little  girl?" 

"Oh,  ever'thing." 

"Don't  talk  that  way.  Tell  me  exactly  what  the 
trouble  is." 

"0  Mr.  Len,"  she  sobbed,  catching  his  arm  and  press 
ing  her  face  upon  it,  "I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"Do  about  what?  Tell  me  what  is  the  matter,  and 
perhaps  I  can  advise  you." 

She  wiped  her  eyes,  put  back  her  hair,  and  said: — 

"Honeycut  is  at  the  house.  I  couldn't  stand  to  hear 
him  talk  to  dad  about  me,  so  I  come  away.  Wait,  now, 
don't  you  go  thar  an'  git  in  a  row  with  him.  Please 
don't  go!"  she  implored. 

"I  must  go,  but  I  won't  do  anything  to  make  matters 
worse.  Stay  here  till  I  come  back." 

Without  replying  she  sat  down  on  a  log.  Len  hurried 
toward  the  house.  Hobdy  and  Honeycut  were  in  a  warm 
discussion.  Just  before  reaching  the  door  Len  heard 
an  assertion  that  caused  him  to  stop  involuntarily  and 
listen. 

"She  is  too  young,  I  tell  yer,"  said  Hobdy.  Then  the 
voice  of  Honeycut — a  voice  which  when  once  heard 
could  never  be  forgotten — replied: — 

"She  mout  be  too  young  fur  some  folks,  but  she  ain't 
too  young  fur  me.  I'm  er  lady's  man,  myse'f, — a  young 
lady's  man.  W'y,  ole  man,  the  gals  all  take  airter  me 
when  I  go  fur  er  walk." 

"Now,  here,  Mr.  Honeycut,  yer  mus'n't  make  light  uv 
this  here  matter.  It's  powerful  serious  with  me." 


1(54  LEN  GANSETT. 

"I  ain't  ther  one  whut's  makin'  light  uv  it,  ole  man. 
You  air  ther  one  that's  makin'  light  uv  it.  Ef  yer  wa'n't 
yer'd  send  fur  the  preacher  right  erway." 

"I  kain't  give  her  up  yit.    Wait  er  little  while  longer." 

"Oh,  that's  whut  yer  allus  say." 

"She  don't  love  yer,  Honeycut." 

"That  don't  make  no  diffunce.  She  ken  1'arn  that 
airier  while.  Oh,  I'm  a  lady's  man!" 

"Yas;  but,  Honeycut,  yer  ain't  got  nothin'  yit  ter 
s'port  a  wife  on." 

"Wall,  now,  don't  yer  fool  yourse'f,  fur  I've  got  some 
mighty  fine  prospecks  layin'  'roun'  loose." 

"Wall,  then,  it's  high  time  that  yer  wuz  er  gatherin' 
some  uv  'em  up." 

"Oh,  I'll  git  er  holt  uv  'em  soon  ernuff.  I've  been 
layin'  off  er  day  er  two  ter  come  over  and  fetch  things 
down  ter  er  fine  p'int,  but  somehow  couldn't  git  off.  But 
I'm  here  now,  an*  I  want  ter  know  ef  thar's  er  settlement 
in  sight." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  ter  do,  Honeycut." 

"It's  time  yer  wuz  er-knowin'." 

."You  know  that  I  didn't  kill  that  man." 

"Wall,  ef  yer  think  yer  didn't  we'd  better  take  ther 
erfair  ter  cou't." 

"Oh,  no,  no!" 

"Yas,  better  take  it  ter  cou't.  I'm  one  uv  ther  best 
witnesses  yer  ever  seed.  I  oughter  be  er  jedge,  I  un'er- 
stan'  law  so  well." 

Len,  clearing  his  throat  so  that  the  inmates  of  the 
room  might  be  apprised  of  his  approach,  advanced  to 
the  open  door,  looked  in,  and  said: — 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  165 

"How  are  you?" 

"Wy,  here's  my  ole  frien'!"  exclaimed  Honeycut. 
"Come  in,  Gansett!" 

Len  entered,  shook  hands  with  Hobdy,  drew  up  a 
chair,  sat  down,  and  said: — 

"Mr.  Hobdy,  I  am  making  arrangements  to  take 
possession  of  the  'Picket/  printed  at  Dogwood.  As  you 
cannot  afford  to  send  your  daughter  to  school,  I  thought 
that  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  let  her  work  in  the 
office.  Of  course  she  could  not  do  much  at  first,  but  I 
would  pay  her  enough  to  enable  you  to  hire  some  one 
to  stay  with  you.  By  learning  to  set  type  she  would 
not  only  know  a  good  trade,  but  would,  incident  to  it, 
acquire  an  education,  more  complete  in  many  respects 
than  she  could  get  at  school.  I  have  not  spoken  to  her, 
for  I  thought  it  better  to  consult  you  first/' 

The  old  man  looked  at  Honeycut.  Honeyeut  squint 
ed,  looked  at  Len,  and  said: — 

"Wanter  make  er  sorter  she-devil  outen  her,  I  reckon. 
Er  haw,  haw!  I  don't  know  whut  ther  ole  man  thinks, 
but  as  his  adviser  in  nearly  all  family  erfairs,  I  must 
say  for  him  that  ther  plan  ain't  erproved  uv.  I've  been 
round  er  printin'-office  some,  an'  I  don't  think  it  is  er 
fitten  place  fur  er  gal.  Thar's  men  ernuff  ter  work  in 
ther  printin'-offices.  .Ther  gals  mus'  do  ther  house 
work." 

"You  would  never  regret  the  step,  Mr.  Hobdy,"  said 
Len,  paying  no  attention  to  Honeycut's  opinion.  "Some 
of  the .  ablest  men  and  women  in  the  country  have 
received  their  education  at  the  printer's  case." 

"I  wish  ISTed  could  go  inter  it,"  the  old  man  timidly 
replied. 


166  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

"Yer  don't  wush  no  sich  uv  er  damned  thing!"  ex 
claimed  Honeycut.  "Er  man  what's  had  as  many  pains 
as  yer  have  don't  know  whut's  good  fur  his  folks." 

"Honeycut,"  said  Len,  "I  am  talking  to  Mr.  Hobdy, 
and  if  you  persist  in  shoving  in  your  views  I'll  kick  you 
out  that  door." 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  old  man  Hobdy  whined.  "Don't  let  us 
have  no  trouble  here.  Let  him  talk,  Mr.  Gansett,  fur 
he  don't  mean  no  harm;  do  yer,  Mr.  Honeycut?" 

"No,  don't  mean  no  harm,  an'  don't  'low  that  no 
harm  shall  be  did.  As  the  gayardeen  uv  ther  gal  I'd 
ruther  she  wouldn't  go  a  nigh  er  printin'-office.  Thar 
ain't  no  good  come  outen  er  printin'-office  yit,  an' — 
Come  in,  Ned!" 

The  girl  entered  and,  without  speaking,  seated  herself 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Jes'  talkin'  about  yer,"  said  Honeycut.  Ned  made 
no  reply.  "I  said  we  wuz  jes'  talkin'  erbout  yer,"  Honey- 
cut  repeated.  "Gansett,  here,  'lows  that  he's  goin'  ter 
take  charge  uv  er  printin'-office,  an'  he  'lows  that  he 
wants  er  gal  erbout  yer  size  ter  go  in  an'  1'arn  the  trade 
with  him." 

Ned  quickly  looked  up.  Honeycut,  perceiving  the 
sudden  change  in  her  manner,  and  slightly  frowning  as 
he  noticed  her  glowing  face,  continued: — 

"He  wanted  yer  ter  go  in  with  him,  but  me  an'  yer 
daddy  don't  think  that  it  would  be  ther  best  thing  fur 
yer." 

Ned,  turning  with  an  air  of  sarcasm  and  addressing 
Len,  said: — 

"Ther  wolf  allus  'pears  ter  have  er  int'rust  in  ther 
lamb/' 


LEN  GANSETT.  167 

"Now,  Ned,"  remarked  old  man  Hobdy,  "don't  talk 
that  way.  Mr.  Honeycut  merely  give  it  as  his  advice 
that  it  won't  do  fur  yer  ter  go.  Thar  ain't  no  purtic'lar 
hurry,  an'  we'll  talk  it  all  over  some  other  time." 

Len,  as  he  looked  at  Hobdy,  thought  that  he  had  never 
before  seen  a  man  so  completely  cowed.  Honeycut 
stretched  out  both  his  legs,  shoved  his  hands  deep  into 
his  pockets,  and  insolently  threw  back  his  head. 

"Yas,"  old  Hobdy  continued,  "thar's  plenty  uv  time 
ter  talk  over  sich  matters." 

"No,  thar  ain't  plenty  uv  time,"  Honeycut  replied. 
"Yer'd  jes'  as  well  give  er  final  answer  now.  I  don't 
believe  in  f  oolin'  erlong  with  er  case  like  this.  Gansett," 
drawing  up  his  legs,  straightening  up  and  addressing 
Len,  "me  an'  this  here  young  lady,  as  I  once  befo'  hinted, 
is  engaged  ter  be  married,  an'  I  don't  thank  yer  fur 
comin'  roun'  an'  meddlin'  in  erfairs  that  don't  consarn 
yer;  an'  now  let  me  tell  yer  wunst  fur  all,  ef  yer  want  er 
water-toter  an'  flo'-sweeper  fur  yer  printin'-office,  w'y, 
yer'll  have  ter  look  fur  one  somewhar  else.  As  they  say 
in  er  'batin'  s'ciety,  this  here  is  all  I've  got  ter  say  on 
ther  subjec',  an'  I  hope  that  we  won't  hear  no  mo'  frum 
yer." 

"I  understand  something  of  the  relationship  existing 
between  you  and  the  young  lady,"  Len  replied,  "and  I 
also  know  that  the  young  lady's  taste  has  not  been  con 
sulted.  In  my  office  her  duties  would  not  consist  of 
carrying  water  and  sweeping." 

"Well,"  rejoined  Honeycut,  "I  don't  kere  how  much 
yer  know,  so  long  as  yer  know  it  ain't  none  uv  yer 
bus'ness." 


168  LEV  GANSETT. 

"Well,  we'll  see  about  that,"  Len  replied,  arising. 

"Don't  be  in  er  hurry,"  said  Hobdy. 

"Yes,  I  must  go.     Good-morning." 

"Wait,"  Honeycut  called,  "an'  I'll  go  a  part  uv  ther 
way  with  yer." 

Honeycut  joined  Len.  They  walked  some  distance 
before  either  of  them  spoke. 

"Gansett,  I  thought  that  we  had  come  ter  some  sorter 
understandin'." 

"I  am  not  responsible  for  what  you  think." 

"Uv  co'se  not,  but  I  don't  know  what  right  you've 
got  to  inte'fere  with  me." 

"We  won't  discuss  that." 

"But  we  must." 

"All  right,  then,  go  ahead." 

"I  ain't  got  much  to  say.  I  only  want  ter  tell  yer  that 
Ned  sha'n't  go  in  ther  printin'-office." 

"I  haven't  much  to  say,"  Len  replied,  "but  I  say  that 
Ned  shall  go  into  the  printing-office." 

"Wall,  'fo'  that  day  comes,  ther  grass  will  be  red  in 
spots." 

"That  may  be  true." 

"It  won't  be  my  blood  that  stains  ther  grass,  Gansett." 

"I  am  glad  that  you  feel  at  such  ease  with  regard  to 
your  safety." 

"I  know  yer  air  er  putty  tough  man,  Gansett,  but  I 
want  yer  to  understand  that  I  ain't  so  mighty  tender." 

"That's  all  right." 

"N"o,  it  ain't  all  right,  Gansett.  What  do  yer  perpose 
ter  do?" 

"See  that  Ned  works  in  my  office." 


LEN  GANSETT.  169 

"Wall,  I'll  see  that  she  don't." 

"By  the  way,  Honeycut,  have  you  seen  Mort  Haney 
recently?" 

"No,  I  hain't;  why?" 

"Nothing,  only  he  is  still  looking  for  the  fellows  that 
whipped  him.  I  saw  him  yesterday.  He  had  a  Win 
chester  rifle.  Told  me  that  every  chance  he  had  he 
devoted  himself  to  the  investigation  of  the  affair  which 
interests  him  so  much.  He  seems  to  think  that  I  have 
an  idea  as  to  who  the  fellows  are.  I  haven't  told  him 
yet  that  you  are  one  of  them,  for  I  don't  want  you  to 
be  found  with  a  hole  through  your  head.  I  am  very 
tender-hearted  in  that  way." 

"Now,  look  here,  Gansett,  what's  the  use  uv  all  this 
foolishness?" 

"None  whatever.  I  don't  want  to  tell  Haney,  hut  I 
am  afraid  that  I  shall  be  forced  to  do  so." 

"Gansett,  thar  ain't  no  use'n  us  fallin'  out.  I  don't 
know  but  er  printin'-office  would  be  er  good  place  fur 
ther  gal.  I  must  think  erbout  it.  I'm  sorter  slow  in 
makin'  up  my  mind." 

"It  seems  so." 

"Yes,  but  I  generally  git  it  made  up  airter  while. 
W'y,  I  tell  yer  whut's  er  fack,  ef  that  feller  Haney 
thought  that  I  he'ped  ter  whup  him — an'  I  didn't — but 
ef  he  jes'  thought  so,  he'd  fill  me  so  full  uv  lead  that 
I  couldn't  walk.  Curious  feller,  that  way.  Wall,  I  turn 
off  here.  Say,  I  think  we  ken  fix  that  printin'-office 
bus'ness.  Good-by." 


170  LET*  GANSETT. 


XVIII. 

"YES,"  Len  mused  as  he  walked  along  alone,  "I  think 
It  will  be  all  right.  Honeycut  may  not  think  so,  but  fear 
less  honesty  can  generally  overcome  desperate  villany. 
Poor  child,  how  much  she  has  to  endure,  and  how 
patiently  she  bears  it!  What  a  heroine  some  writers 
could  make  of  her,  and  in  fiction  how  great  society 
women  would  give  her  their  sympathy,  though  they 
might  see  her  and  talk  without  emotion  to  her.  This 
is  not  their  fault,  for  they  could  not  fathom  the  depth 
of  her  character.  It  requires  a  skillful  hand  to  shake 
and  arouse  their  emotions.  I  believe  that  Ned  will  learn 
rapidly.  Free  from  the  embarrassments  of  the  school 
room,  with  no  'superior  scholar'  to  taunt  her,  she  would 
devote  herself  to  her  task.  I  feel  sorry  for  old  man 
Hobdy,  though  it  seems  that  if  I  were  in  his  place — well, 
I  don't  know  what  I  would  do.  To-morrow  I  must  go 
back  into  this  corn,"  he  added,  as  he  reached  the  fence 
surrounding  the  field  which  he  was  cultivating.  He 
placed  his  arms  on  the  fence  and  stood  looking  into  the 
field.  Hot  steam  arose  from  the  soil.  The  corn-blades 
rustled  Avith  a  sound  like  gentle  waves.  The  woodpecker 
with  his  unmusical  cry,  fiercely  pounded  on  the  branch 
of  a  dead  tree,  and  the  bull-bat,  with  smothered  bellow, 
darted  at  the  flies  that  swarmed  above  the  corn. 

"Think  I'll  plough  this  corn  one  more  time  and  lay 
it  by,  as  they  say  here.  Who  is  that,  I  wonder?"  He 
saw  a  man  coming  down  a  corn-row.  "Why  does  he 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  171 

want  to  pull  up  weeds  in  my  field?  Why,  helloa, 
Braley!" 

"Hi,  Len,"  said  Braley,  throwing  down  a  handful  of 
weeds  and  approaching  the  fence.  Happened  ter  be 
comin'  through  the  fiel',  an'  I  jes'  eouldn'  keep  my  han's 
offen  whut  few  weeds  I  seed.  I  am  er  powerful  han' 
thater  way." 

"How  is  your  corn,  Braley?" 

"Wall,  it  is  powerful  in  the  grass.  Ain't  got  much 
uv  er  crap  in,  but  somehow  it  got  ther  bulge  on  me  an' 
run  bodaciously  away  with  me.  It  wouldn't  er  got  erway 
frum  me,  but  durin'  the  last  wet  spell  I  had  ter  make 
er  hen-house  fur  ole  Patterson." 

"Did  he  pay  you  for  it?" 

"Who,— ole  Patterson?" 

"Yes." 

"Wall,  no,  ole  Patterson  didn't." 

"Did  any  one  pay  you?" 

"Wall,  no.  Yer  see,  I  couldn't  he'p  doin'  it.  Wife, 
she  didn't  want  me  ter  go,  but  as  I  had  allus  he'ped  ther 
ole  man  I  couldn't  refuse  him  this  time." 

"That's  all  very  well,  but  he  should  pay  you  for  your 
work." 

"Wall,  he  told  me  that  when  I  wanted  er  mid'lin'  o' 
meat  I'd  know  whar  ter  come  fur  it.  Wife,  she  'lows 
that  I'm  gittin'  lesser  an'  lesser  ercount  ever'  year;  but 
I  don't  think  so.  Wimen  allus  say  that  erbout  ther 
men.  Wall,  I  mus'  be  goin'."  He  took  one  hand  off  the 
fence,  looked  around  again,  placed  his  hand  on  the 
fence,  and  said:  "I'm  sorter  pushed  fur  time.  Never 
wuz  in  sich  er  rush  in  my  life.  Wall,  I  must  be  goin'." 


172  LEN  GANSETT. 

He  took  both  hands  off  the  fence,  kicked  a  clod,  broke 
off  a  sassafras  twig,  put  it  into  his  mouth,  and  re 
marked: — 

"Er  man  has  ter  hump  hisself.  He  jes'  nachully  ain't 
got  no  time  ter  fool  erround.  Wall,  I  mus'  go.  "Wife, 
she  sent  me  out  ter  git  er  mid'lin'  uv  meat,  an'  I  don't 
'zackly  know  whar  ter  git  it." 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  Patterson's?" 

"I  would,  but  ther  old  man  is  curi's  erbout  lettin'  er 
feller  have  meat.  My  chillun  can  eat  mo'  meat  than  any 
set  uv  chillun  I  ever  seed.  'Peers  ter  me  like  the  fust 
thing  they  do  when  thep  hop  outen  ther  cradle  is  ter 
look  airter  er  piece  er  meat  ter  chaw  on.  Mout  ride  all 
day  an'  not  find  ernuther  set  uv  chillun  jes'  like  'em. 
Fine  chillun,  though!  We  never  did  think  Tom  wuz 
goin'  ter  live." 

"Why,  because  he  was  so  delicate?" 

"Oh,  no,  'cause  he  wuz  so  smart.  W'y,  when  that 
boy  wa'n't  mo'n  four  year  an'  er  half  ole,  he  could  fling 
er  rock  over  ther  top  uv  er  tree  as  high  as  that  hick'ry 
yander.  Looked  fur  him  ter  die  ever*  day,  but  he  kep' 
joggin'  erlong.  He's  er  snorter,  now,  an'  is  er  meat-eater 
frum  erway  back  yander.  Wall,  I  must  go;  but,  ter  tell 
yer  ther  truth,  I  don't  know  whar  ter  git  that  meat." 

"Come  home  with  me  and  I'll  give  it  to  you." 

"•Sho'  'nuff?" 

"Of  course.     Come  on!" 

"I'll  go  yer  wunst,  anyhow.  Say,  I  told  wife  that  I'd 
go  ter  Patterson's  airter  it,  an'  ef  she  ever  says  anything 
don't  yer  let  on  that  yer  know  nothin'  erbout  it.  Ther 


LEN  GANSETT.  173 

truth,  uv  ther  matter  is,  I  got  er  couple  of  mid'lin's 
frum  Patterson  yistidy." 

"You  certainly  have  not  eaten — " 

"Wait  till  I  tell  yer.  I  wouldn't  have  yer  say  nothin' 
erbout  it  fur  ther  world,  but  ther  truth  of  ther  business 
is  I  got  drunk  an'  lost  ther  meat  in  ther  woods.  I  know 
I  oughter  be  whupped,  but  I  kain't  he'p  it  now.  I  told 
wife  that  I  didn't  git  none,  'cause  Patterson  wa'n't  at 
home,  but  that  I'd  go  back  ter-day.  I  don't  see  how  I 
come  ter  lose  it,  fur  erbout  ther  last  thing  I  recolleck 
'fo'  gittin'  home  wuz  ther  tight  grip  I  Ml'  on  ther  meat. 
Thar's  somethin'  powerful  ther  matter  with  me  when  I 
turn  loose  er  mid'lin'!  Say,  when  we  git  ter  ther  house, 
jes'  git  ther  smoke-house  key  while  I  stan'  roun'.  I 
don't  want  ther  old  folks  ter  know  I'm  on  ther  place." 

"All  right,"  Len  replied. 

Len  acted  as  Braley  had  requested,  and  soon  the 
shiftless  man,  singing  in  imitation  of  the  strange  and 
weird  quill-whoop  of  the  negroes,  strode  homeward. 

Len  was  astir  early  the  next  morning,  not  particu 
larly  aroused  by  an  industrious  impulse  of  his  own, 
but  drowsily,  and,  still  half  dreaming,  got  out  of  bed 
because  his  grandfather's  voice,  from  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  insisted  upon  such  a  performance. 

The  weeks  wore  on  with  that  lack  of  incident  which 
farmers  from  infancy  learn  to  endure, — a  blight  on  the 
rising  spirits  of  youth,  but  a  balm  on  the  declining 
spirits  of  old  age. 

Young  Gansett  "laid  by"  his  corn.  He  looked  back 
at  the  last  furrow  when  he  had  reached  the  end  of  the 
row,  and,  driving  his  horse  into  a  fence  corner,  took  the 


174  LEN  GANSETT. 

plough-handles  under  his  arms  leaned  back,  and  said: — 
"I  hope  that  this  is  my  last  furrow.  I  don't  mind 
work,  but  I  do  mind  being  a  slave  to  a  patch  of  ground. 
If  I  can't  make  that  paper  pay — but  I  must,  for  Ned's 
sake,  make  it  pay.  I  knew  that  when  all  barriers  were 
removed  she  would  be  delighted  with  the  idea.  Well, 
I  must  take  this  plough  to  the  barn." 

Dockery's  legislative  "call"  had  at  first  created  great 
merriment  among  the  people.  They  did  not  know  that 
the  editor  had  written  it;  but  each  man,  knowing  himself 
to  be  a  prominent  citizen,  knew  that  the  "call"  had  not 
been  submitted  to  him.  The  levity  soon  gave  place  to 
serious  consideration,  for  Colonel  Bently  issued  a  circu- 
uar,  declaring  that  Dockery  was  the  man  for  the  position. 
"I  shall,"  the  colonel  said  in  conclusion,  "do  all  within 
the  persuasive  power  of  an  earnest  man  and  promoter 
of  my  country's  interest  to  secure  the  nomination  of  Mr. 
Dockery.  He  is  zealous  and  fearless,  and,  what  is  most 
requisite  to  the  character  of  a  legislator,  he  is  pains 
taking  in  the  work  of  serving  his  friends.  Therefore, 
good  citizens,  let  us  all  turn  out  and  nominate  Mr. 
Dockery." 

The  good  citizens  turned  out  and  the  editor  was  nom 
inated  by  acclamation.  Dockery  was  deeply  moved  by 
this  outburst  of  patriotism,  and,  in  a  voice  through 
which  waves  of  emotion  rolled  returned  his  thanks  to 
the  convention.  'Tellow-citizens,"  said  he,  "on  the 
spur — spur  of  this  great  occasion,  it  is  imposible  for  me 
to  express  all  I  feel.  I  do  not  on  this  occasion  claim  to 
be  a  great  orator,  and  if  I  were  I  could  not  find  words  to 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  175 

express  my  feelings  on  this  momentous  occasion.  This 
august — " 

"September,"  some  one  shouted.  "Ther  'leckshun 
comes  off  ther  fust  Monday  in  September." 

"I  know  that,  my  dear  friends.  I  say  that  this  august 
assembly  is  quite  enough  to  daunt  the  courage  of  a 
better-equipped  orator  than  I  am;  but  in  the  legislature, 
where  I  shall  not  be  confronted  by  such  learning  and 
intelligence,  I  can  put  my  foot  on  the  neck  of  wrong 
and  take  hold  of  the  hand  of  right.  I  don't  know  that 
I  can  say  more  on  this  occasion.  I  gratefully  thank 
you." 

The  orator  was  loudly  cheered,  and  when  he  stepped 
down  he  was  seized,  and,  upon  the  shoulders  of  several 
men,  was  enthusiastically  borne  from  the  house. 

As  no  other  candidate  appeared  in  the  field  Dockery 
was  largely  elected.  In  a  two-column  article  he  an 
nounced  his  withdrawal  from  the  "Picket."  He  thank 
ed  his  readers  for  their  generous  patronage,  and  thanked 
his  brothers  of  the  press  for  their  courtesy.  In  the  out 
pouring  of  his  regret  at  parting  from  them  he  forgot 
that  the  editor  of  the  "Grange  Standard  Bearer"  had 
called  him  a  pirate,  and  that  the  editor  of  the  "Moun 
tain  Cove  Eagle"  had  threatened  to  whip  him  on  sight. 

Colonel  Bently  kept  his  promise.  New  type  and  a 
new  press  were  ordered,  and  the  office  was  fitted  up  in  a 
way  that  caused  Dockery  to  sigh. 

"Now,  Gansett,"  said  Dockery  to  Len,  "if  there's  any 
thing  about  the  business  you  don't  understand,  why, 
don't  hesitate  to  ask  me.  By  George,  you  ought  to 
prosper  here.  You've  got  a  good  printer;  cheap,  too. 


176  LEN  GANSETT. 

While  I  am  in  the  legislature  I  will  keep  you  posted,  and 
say,  I  want  you  pay  attention  to  me.  I  expect  to  make 
several  speeches  down  there  that  will  be  of  vital  interest 
to  my  constituents,  and — well,  I'll  write  out  the  speeches 
and  send  them  to  you.  They'll  take  considerable  work 
off  your  hands.  Oh,  I  know  all  about  it.  Many  a  time 
have  I  longed  for  a  good,  stirring  speech, — one  that 
scooped  fraud  and  plunged  a  cold  blade  into  the  heart 
of  corruption." 

"I  will  not  forget  you,"  Len  replied. 

"I  don't  intend  that  you  shall,  for  if  you  were  to  do  so 
I  alone  would  not  be  injured.  My  constituents  would 
suffer-.  "Well,  you  know  that  I  shall  remain  here  among 
my  people  until  the  last  of  December,  and  if  during  that 
time  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you,  let  me  know.  I 
might,  until  you  get  your  hand  in,  write  your  leaders 
for  you." 

"I  don't  intend  to  pay  much  attention  to  heavy 
leaders,  Dockery." 

"My  dear  young  man,  let  me  warn  you  against  making 
such  a  mistake.  A  newspaper  without  a  leader  is  like 
a  man  without  a  coat.  What  are  you  going  to  fill  up 
with?" 

"With  local  news,  editorial  paragraphs,  amusing  arti 
cles,  and  careful  selections." 

"That's  very  well,  but  you've  got  to  have  leaders. 
What  the  people  want  is  strong  political  articles,  mainly 
on  legislative  matters.  What  was  it  the  poet  said?  'We 
must  legislate,  we  must  legislate,  or  we  must  perish/  " 

"Educate,  you  mean,"  Len  replied. 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  177 

"Believe  it  was  educate,  but  it  makes  no  difference — 
all  the  same  thing." 

Old  Bob  Gansett  had  a  high  opinion  of  what  an 
editor  should  be.  He  had  confidence  in  Len,  and  though 
he  regretted  to  see  the  young  man  turn  from  a  pursuit 
so  useful  and  embrace  one  so  ornamental,  yet  he  was 
willing  that  Len  should  consult  his  own  taste.  He 
silently  wished  that  the  young  man  had  chosen  law;  for 
in  the  country  the  lawyer,  in  his  cheap  broadcloth,  is 
the  embodiment  of  all  that  is  wise.  Mrs.  Gansett  knew 
that  the  pulpit  offered  greater  advantages  to  a  young 
man  of  education,  and  she  prayed  that  Len  might  be 
come  a  circuit-rider. 

Early  one  morning  Ned  Hobdy  presented  herself  at 
the  Gansett  farm,  to  accompany  Len  to  the  office.  Her 
face  was  radiant  and  her  eyes  shone  with  the  lustre  of  a 
new  life.  As  she  and  Len  walked  along  the  road  the 
young  man  began  to  tell  her  of  his  love. 

"Yer  mus'  hush  that,  Mr.  Len.  I'm  goin'  thar  ter 
1'arn,  an'  lessen  yer  promise  me  one  thing  I'll  turn  right 
roun'  an'  go  home." 

"I'll  promise  anything,  Fed." 

"Wall,  promise  that  yer  never  will  hint  love  ter  me 
ag'in  till  I  tell  yer  ter." 

"Oh,  but  you  might  never  tell  me." 

"Yas,  I  will  when  ther  time  comes.  It  may  be  er  good 
while,  but  I'll  tell  yer." 

"I'll  keep  the  promise  if  it  kills  me." 

"It  won't  be  ap'  ter  kill  yer.  We  mus'  work  like 
fightin'  fire,  an'  mus'n't  fool  erroun'  none." 

When  they  reached  the  office,  when  the  girl  saw  what 


178  LEN  G  AN  SETT. 

she  had  to  learn,  she  clasped  her  hands  in  a  sort  of 
despair,  but  her  face  was  soon  aglow  with  determination. 
The  printer,  a  rather  old  man,  named  Collins,  but  who 
was  known  to  the  Guttenberg  guild  as  "Hungry  Pete," 
took  great  interest  in  the  girl. 

"Get  up  on  this  stool/'  said  he,  "and  I'll  show  you  the 
boxes.  Know  your  letters,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  yas'  I  ken  read  er  little." 

"All  right,  then.  First  thing  you  know  you'll  be 
writing  articles  for  a  fashion  magazine.  By  George!" 
he  mused,  as  he  turned  to  take  up  a  handful  of  em- 
quads;  "she's  the  prettiest  creature  I  ever  saw.  Here, 
now,"  he  said  aloud,  "let  me  sort  up  your  case.  Then 
I'll  put  up  some  big  type,  this  way,  so  you  can  find  the 
boxes.  After  a  while  you'll  know  the  boxes  so  well  that 
you  needn't  have  the  big  type.  Then  you  can  take  them 
out." 

Len  stood  looking  on.  "I'll  have  to  follow  your  advice, 
too,  Collins,"  said  he;  "for  I'm  going  to  learn." 

"All  right,  but  if  you  don't  mind  I'll  take  the  other 
stool." 

"Help  yourself.    I'd  rather  stand  up,  anyway." 

"Glad  of  it.  Like  to  work  with  a  man  that  would 
rather  stand  up." 

"Where  did  you  work  last,  Collins?" 

"Didn't  work.    Hoofed  it  from  one  place  to  another." 

"How  did  you  find  your  way  to  this  place?" 

"Didn't  find  my  way.    Just  happened  here." 

"I  see  that  you  are  industrious,  and  I  suppose  you  are 
sober." 

"Yes,  now  I  am.     "Why,"  turning  to  Ned,  "you're 


LEN  GANSETT.  179 

picking  'em  up  right  along.  Turn  the  nicks  up,  this 
way.  That's  it.  Oh,  you'll  soon  learn!" 

"I  hope  so;  but  it's  so  hard  ter  pick  'em  up,  an'  then 
it*s  hard  to  turn  'em  loose  in  ther  right  place." 

"Yes,  but  after  a  while  it'll  all  be  as  easy  as  shelling 
corn.  Don't  try  to  hurry.  Just  take  your  time." 

When  Ned  reached  home,  at  night,  she  found  her 
father  standing  in  the  door,  looking  for  her. 

"I'm  powerful  glad  ter  see  yer,"  said  the  old  man. 
"Seems  like  yer've  been  gone  er  month.  Ther  little 
nigger  does  his  best,  but  nobody  ken  take  yer  place. 
Wall,"  he  added,  when,  after  kissing  him,  Ned  had  sat 
down,  "how  do  yer  like  ther  bus'ness?" 

"It's  awful  pokey  an'  tiresome,  an'  I  know  that  ef  yer 
wuz  workin'  at  it  ther  bad  man  would  come  right  erlong 
an'  nab  yer.  I  know  I'll  dream  erbout  it  all  night.  Oh, 
it  does  make  me  so  tired!  but  I'll  1'arn  it,  ?ft'  then  I 
won't  talk  like  er  nigger." 

"Yer  talk  like  er  angel,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Yes,"  she  replied, — "er  black  one.  I  wush  yer  could 
see  all  the  funny  little  things  we've  got  thar.  Ter  look 
at  them — so  little  an'  curi's — would  make  yer  laugh, 
but  when  yer  went  ter  pick  'em  up  they'd  try  ter  git 
outen  yer  way,  an'  then  ye'd  cuss  till  ther  bad  man  would 
jump  right  in  airter  yer." 


180  LEN  GANSETT. 


XIX. 

WITH  dauntless  persistence  Ned  devoted  herself  to 
her  work.  She  soon  learned  the  "boxes,"  but  then  it 
seemed  that  she  was  compelled  to  encounter  difficulties 
still  more  perplexing.  There  were  so  many  little  things 
to  remember,  such  exactness  demanded,  that  the  girl, 
scarcely  able  to  correctly  spell  a  word  except  by  closely 
following  her  "reprint  copy,"  was  sometimes  tempted 
to  run  away;  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment  at  a  time  that 
her  spirits  would  sink. 

"Don't  permit  anything  to  discourage  you/'  Len 
would  say. 

"I  won't;  but,  Mr.  Len,  I  ain't  got  Farin'  ernuff  for 
this  sorter  bus'ness." 

"The  learning  will  come.  You  can  read  better  now 
than  you  could  at  first." 

"Oh,  yas,  an'  spell  better,  too;  an'  after  while  I  ken 
talk  better.  I  study  my  books  ever7  chance  I  git." 

"That's  right.  Why,  just  look,  my  proof  is  quite  as 
bad  as  yours,  and  I  have  had  the  advantages  of  educa 
tion." 

"Yes,  but  you — I  don't  say  yer  any  mo',  do  I? — you 
ken  set — set — " 

"Manuscript." 

"Yas,  you  ken  set  manuscript  an'  I  kain't." 

"But  you  will  learn  after  a  while." 

"I  know,  but  after  while  is  so  long." 


LEN  GANSETT.  181 

"Oh,  not  so  very  long.  You  have  only  been  at  work 
here  a  little  more  than  a  month." 

"Yes,  that's  so.  How  I  do  wish  I  could  set  type  like 
Mr.  Collins  ken!" 

"Why,"  said  the  old  printer,  without  looking  up  from 
his  work,  "you  can  beat  me  all  hollow  pretty  soon.  You 
have  made  wonderful  progress,  and  it  won't  be  long 
until  you  can  correct  your  own  galleys." 

"I'll  try  it  now  if  you'll  let  me." 

"No,  most  too  early  yet." 

"I  know  I'm  1'arin'  fast,  for  at  night  I  read  to  dad. 
He  thinks  I'm  the  finest  scholar  he  ever  seen." 

The  "Picket"  increased  in  popularity,  and  the  cir 
culation  began  to  show  a  slow,  but  steady  growth. 

"Collins,"  Len  one  day  remarked,  "I  think  .that  I 
have  at  last  found  the  business  for  which  I  am  suited." 

"A  man  that's  a  failure  in  everything  else  generally 
makes  a  good  editor,"  the  printer  replied.  "There's  a 
Memphis  paper" — pointing — "that  has  copied  one  of 
your  sketches." 

Len  eagerly  took  up  the  paper.  "Yes,  here  it  is,  cred 
ited  to  the  Ticket.'  I'll  take  it  home  and  show  it  to 
the  old  people.  Here  comes  Colonel  Bently.  Come  in, 
colonel!" 

"Good-morning,"  said  the  colonel  as  he  entered  the 
office.  "Gansett,"  he  added,  as  he  sat  down  and  placed 
his  arms  on  a  pine  table,  "you  are  making  an  excellent 
paper,  one  that  would  reflect  credit  upon  the  intelligence 
of  any  rural  community." 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  Len  replied.  "Look  here," 
exhibiting  the  Memphis  paper. 


182  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Well,  I  declare!"  said  the  colonel.  "That's  a  first- 
rate  article,  and  I  warrant  you  that  it  will  go  the  rounds 
of  the  press.  Ah,  my  dear  boy,  I  knew  that  I  was  not 
doing  wrong  in  establishing  you  here.  How  are  you 
getting  along,  Miss  Hobdy?" 

Ned  blushed  and  replied  that  she  was  getting  along 
very  well. 

"What  are  you  doing  now?" 

"Correctin'  a  galley,"  she  replied. 

"She  sets  a  first-rate  proof,  considering  her  length  of 
time  at  the  business,"  said  Collins.  "I'm  going  to  put 
her  on  manuscript  pretty  soon." 

"Wot  till  I  can  read  better'n  I  can  now,"  the  girl 
rejoined. 

"She  is  a  close  student,"  said  Len.  "I  have  never 
before  seen  any  one  improve  so  rapidly.  I  have  realized 
one  thing;  that  a  printing-office,  even  though  it  be  a 
small  one,  is  a  great  school,  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  that  its 
methods  are  practical,  although  they  are  technical.  I 
studied  punctuation  at  school,  but  I  find  that  the  print 
ing-office,  in  this  branch  especially,  is  far  better  than 
any  school.  A  good  printer,  in  the  matter  of  punctu 
ation,  is  better  than  an  ordinary  professor." 

"Yes,"  the  colonel  replied,  "the  printing-office  is  a 
school — an  excellent  supplement;  yet  not  broad  enough 
to  take  the  place  of  more  systematic  training.  It  only 
teaches  one  branch." 

"But  it  teaches  that  branch  thoroughly,"  said  Len. 

"Yes,"  the  colonel  replied;  "but  one  branch,  no  mat 
ter  how  thoroughly  it  may  be  taught,  does  not  suffice." 
"I  know  that,  colonel;  but  thoroughness  in  one  thing 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  183 

teaches  thoroughness  in  many  things.  I  do  not  mean 
that  the  duties  necessarily  devolving  upon  one  in  a 
printing-office  can  wholly  impart  knowledge,  but  I  think 
that  it  opens  one's  eyes  to  the  necessity  of  useful  infor 
mation;  in  other  words,  it  teaches  one  to  choose  the 
practical,  and  to  throw  aside  the  impractical." 

"Yet,  my  dear  boy,  there  are  thousands  of  printers 
who  do  not  lift  themselves  above — who  seek  nothing 
further  than  an  acquaintance  with  the  direct  appliances 
of  their  trade." 

"Yes,  for,  as  a  rule,  they  are  not  ambitious;  but  when 
ever  a  printer  attempts  to  enlarge  his  sphere  he  generally 
succeeds." 

"That's  what  he  does,"  said  Collins.  "If  he  can't 
handle  ems  in  one  place  he  hoofs  it  to  another  town. 
Don't  know  Fatty  McGuire,  do  you,  colonel?" 

"No." 

"Well,  Fatty  used  to  be  the  toughest  in  the  gang — was 
a  regular  bum.  Where  do  you  suppose  he  is  now?" 

"I  have  no  idea." 

"Well,  he's  down  in  Texas,  preaching.  He's  the  best 
mourner's-bench  solicitor  in  that  State.  When  he  opens 
up,  the  boys  weaken.  One  night  in  Galveston  he  caught 
fourteen  printers, — or  'comps,'  rather,"  correcting  him 
self.  "Oh,  no,  the  boys  can't  hold  out  against  him." 

"Good  preacher,  no  doubt,"  the  colonel  replied. 

"Good  preacher — why,  he's  a  rip  snorter.  I  worked 
with  him  before  he  joined  the  church.  Didn't  think 
there  was  much  to  him;  but  when  I  heard  him  turn 
loose  I  just  handed  my  hat  to  Long  Tom — he  was  with 
me — and  told  him  that  I  caved." 


184  LEN  QANSETT. 

"I  have  no  doubt  but  that  your  friend  is  a  persuasive 
speaker,"  the  colonel  observed;  "but  don't  you  think  that 
he  would  be  a  still  better  talker  had  he  gone  through  a 
theological  college?" 

"No,  sir,"  Collins  exclaimed.  "His  familiar  expres 
sions  caught  the  boys.  He  didn't  quote  Greek  to  show 
that  his  creed  was  the  best.  He  said  that  he  had  been 
a  woeful  sinner;  that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Christ, 
not  because  he  was  educated  into  it,  but  because  he 
couldn't  help  himself.  Even  in  his  longest  sermons  he 
didn't  waste  a  single  word.  He  had  been  used  to  weigh 
ing  words  in  his  stick,  and  he  knew  the  heavy  one  irom 
the  light  ones;  and,  again,  he  punctuated  his  lines.  He 
didn't  talk  fast,  but  he  took  his  time,  and  sometimes  he 
would  stop  and  make  motions  as  if  he  had  bad  manu 
script  on  his  case,  and  couldn't  quite  catch  on  to  the 
style,  but  the  first  thing  we  knew  he'd  go  ahead  and 
make  us  shed  tears.  He  didn't  hunt  for  lurid  colors 
to  paint  an  awful  hell  with;  no,  he  took  a  modest  brush 
and  painted  love  and  trust  all  over  the  house." 

"Did  his  homely  persuasion  draw  you  to  the  cross?" 
the  colonel  asked. 

"Well,  yes,  and  I  run  with  the  gospellers  for  some 
time,  but  finally  I  had  to  hoof  it  out  of  town.  I  hadn't 
gone  far  till  I  met  Jerry  Barnes,  and  that  settled  it. 
Jerry  had  a  quart,  and  that  started  me  on  a  little  breeze. 
Eoamed  around  the  country  awhile,  and  finally  struck 
this  town." 

"You  ought  to  go  back  to  the  fold,"  the  colonel  sug 
gested. 


LEN  GANSETT.  185 

"I  can't  now.  Think  it  would  take  Fatty  to  bring  me 
around  all  right." 

"When  the  had  man  gets  you,  you  won't  think  of 
Fatty,"  Ned  remarked. 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it,"  the  printer  replied.  "No 
use  of  a  man  going  back,  though,  unless  he  feels  like  it. 
Well,  we've  talked  about  long  enough.  If  we  want  to 
get  up  this  paper,  we've  got  to  pull  out." 

From  time  to  time,  just  as  often  as  the  girl's  con 
sciousness  of  her  own  worth  would  permit,  Ned's  wages 
were  increased.  Every  Saturday  evening,  with  a  pride 
which  delighted  her  father,  she  took  her  money  home. 
Len  took  but  little  money  home.  He  regarded  himself 
as  fortunate  if  he  were  able  to  pay  off.  Gradually, 
though,  the  paper  began  to  pay  better. 

Winter  came  on,  and  the  honorable  Mr.  Dockery  went 
down  to  serve  his  country.  He  waited  until  the  house 
was  organized,  but  he  could  wait  no  longer.  Then  he 
arose  and  began  a  harangue  on  the  tax-burdened  condi 
tion  of  his  people.  He  had  spoken  during  some  fifteen 
minutes  when  the  speaker  informed  him  that  there  was 
no  motion  before  the  house,  and  that  he  was  out  of 
order.  Mr.  Dockery  showed  a  disposition  to  argue  the 
point,  but  a  loud  rap  of  the  gavel  overruled  him. 

Pretty  soon  he  introduced  a  bill,  wandering  in  aim 
and  profuse  in  construction,  asking  special  favors  for 
the  county  which  he  had  the  honor  to  represent.  The 
way  being  thus  opened,  bills  of  similar  purport  were 
introduced,  until  it  seemed  that  every  county  in  the 
State  was  praying  for  relief.  It  was  unwise  to  pass  them 
all,  so,  as  a  "starter"  in  a  good  direction,  Mr.  Dockery's 


186  LEN  GANSETT. 

bill  was  "killed."  The  devoted  legislator  had  written 
to  several  of  the  leading  men  of  his  county,  telling  them 
that  the  bill  would  surely  be  passed.  When  the  great 
measure  of  relief  was  mercilessly  and  indefinately 
tabled,  Mr.  Dockery  sent  a  communication,  of  which 
the  following  is  an  extract,  to  the  "Picket:"  "I  have 
found  that  this  legislature  is  opposed  to  our  county.  It 
cannot  be  denied  that  I  have  taken  the  lead  in  affairs 
of  this  session  of  the  Arkansas  general  assembly;  and  this 
being  the  case,  certain  jealousies  have  arisen  to  take 
away  from  me  my  well-earned  distinction.  It  is  as  I 
have  repeatedly  said:  the  people  are  not  careful  enough 
in  their  selections  of  legislative  timber.  Small  men  hold 
small  ideas;  narrow  men  are  narrow  in  their  views.  I 
have  been  told  by  old  politicians  that  my  bill  was  drawn 
up  in  a  masterly  manner.  Of  this  I  cannot  say,  but  I 
do  know  that  it  was  framed  with  the  view  of  relieving 
my  tax-ridden  people.  I  have  been  honored  with  a  place 
on  the  most  important  committees,  and,  notwithstanding 
the  failure  of  my  great  and  humane  measure,  I  feel  that 
I  can  accomplish  much  for  my  county  and  State." 

In  a  private  note  to  Len  Mr.  Dockery  said.  "I  wish  you 
would  tell  Mose  Hardrider  that  I  will  pay  him  just  as 
soon  as  I  get  the  money.  He  has  written  to  me  three  or 
four  times,  and  must  think  that  I  am  not  good  for  the 
amount.  It  is  not  right  to  harass  a  man  who  has  the 
cares  of  state  on  his  mind.  A  man  can  do  physical 
labor  and,  when  he  puts  his  tools  aside,  speak  of  subjects 
that  annoy  him;  but,  as  you  by  this  time  doubtless  know, 
a  man  engaged  in  mental  work  cannot  put  his  tools  aside. 
Therefore  I  wish  that  Hardrider  would  attend  to  his  own 


LEN  GANSETT.  187 

business.  It  is  true  that  I  am  getting  six  dollars  per  day; 
but,  Gansett,  you  know  that  six  dollars  per  day  to  men 
in  our  standing  is,  after  all,  a  beggarly  pittance.  I  may 
never  again  mount  the  tripod;  but,  my  dear  fellow, 
remember  that  I  shall,  no  matter  where  I  may  be,  always 
cheerfully  give  you  advice.  I  know  that  you  are  modest, 
yet  I  do  not  feel  that  you  will  hesitate  to  call  upon  me. 
Say,  in  your  editorial  paragraphs — and  indeed  you  write 
them  like  a  professional — give  me  a  send-off.  Tell  the 
people  that  I  am  doing  my  duty  and  that  I  deserve  re 
election.  Of  course  I  shall  not  run  again,  but — well, 
you  know  how  to  fix  it.  If  you  should  come  down  while 
we  are  in  session  I  shall  make  a  motion  that  you  be  in 
vited  to  a  seat  on  the  floor.  This  will  be  a  big  thing  for 
your  paper,  and  will  be  the  means  of  getting  you  a  num 
ber  of  subscribers  here." 

One  rainy  day  when  Ned  had  not  come  to  town,  and 
when  the  printer  had,  in  consequence  of  being  ahead, 
taken  a  "lay  off,"  Honeycut  entered  the  office.  Len 
was  reading  Dockery's  letter  when  Honeycut  entered. 

"Helloa,"  said  the  visitor,  stamping  his  feet  on  the 
door-sill,  "how  yer  gettin'  erlong?" 

"Very  well." 

"Glad  ter  hear  it.  Got  a  sorter  int'rust  in  ther  office, 
you  know." 

"You  needn't  put  yourself  to  any  trouble,"  Len  re 
plied. 

"Oh,  'taint  no  trouble  er  tall.  I'm  er  peculiar  sorter 
person  that  er  way,"  Honeycut  added,  with  a  yellow 
grin. 

"Nobody  takes  mo'  int'rust  in  his  neighbors  than  I  do. 
Whar's  Ned?" 


188  LEN  G  AN  SETT. 

"Miss  Hobdy  did  not  come  to-day." 

"Reckon  she  stayed  at  home,  then." 

"I  suppose  she  did." 

"Wall,  sar,  she's  gittin'  so  high  up  that  I  kain't  hardly 
talk  ter  her.  Ken  talk  well  ernuff,  but  kain't  hardly 
understan'  her.  Never  seed  anybody  climb  up  in  ther 
pictures  so  fast.  I  wuz  over  ter  ther  ole  man's  las'  night, 
and  Ned  couldn't  do  nothin'  but  read  her  boak  an'  talk 
erbout  it.  Putty  smart  gal,  after  all,  an'  will  make  er 
putty  good  wife,  an'  she's  gittin'  erbout  ole  ernuff  now." 

"I  suppose,"  Len  replied,  "that  she  will  consult  her 
own  pleasure  with  regard  to  marriage." 

"I  don't  know  erbout  that.  I  reckon  that  when  a 
man's  engaged  ter  er  gal  he's  got  er  right  ter  hurry  up 
ther  erfair." 

"Yes,  and  I  suppose  that  she  has  a  right  to  break  the 
engagement." 

"Sometimes  yas,  an'  sometimes  no.  Yer've  know'd 
all  erlong  that  me  an'  her  wuz  goin'  ter  git  married,  an' 
I  don't  think  that  yer've  got  er  right  ter  interfere.  I  ken 
stan'  er  good  deal,  am  willin'  ter  put  up  with  er  heap, 
but  I've  got  ernuff  uv  yer  med'lin',  Mr.  Gansett.  I  tuck 
old  -man  Hobdy  off  ter  one  side  las'  night  an'  had  er 
long  talk  with  him,  an'  he  tells  me  that  he's  mo'n  willin' 
fur  me  an'  Ned  ter  get  married.  Er  good  man  aughter 
marry  er  gin  he's  as  old  as  I  am,  an'  bein'  er  good  man 
merself,  I  think  that  my  time  has  erbout  got  here." 

"I  believe  we  had  a  talk  about  Mort  Haney  some  time 
ago,"  said  Len. 

"Yas,  bTeve  we  did." 

"I  told  you,  I  believe,  that  he  wanted  to  find  out  who 
whipped  him  last  spring." 


LEN  GANSETT.  189 

"Yas,  b'l'eve  yer  did." 

"I  told  you  then  that  I  knew  one  of  the  parties." 

"Correck;  go  erhead." 

"You  were  unwilling  to  give  your  consent — " 

"Yas." 

"But  when  I  told  you  something,  you  consented." 

"That's  it." 

"Well,  if  you  devise  any  scheme  for  taking  that  girl 
from  this  office  I  will  tell  him  that  you  assisted  in  whip 
ping  him." 

Honeycut  grinned,  took  off  his  hat,  rubbed  his  head, 
and  replied: — 

"Ain't  heard  from  Mort  lately,  I  reckon." 

"No,  not  very  recently." 

"That's  what  I  thought." 

"Why?" 

"Wall,  he  don't  kere  now  who  whupped  him.  He's 
down  with  newmony,  an'  ther  doctor  said  this  mornin' 
that  he  couldn't  live  till  night.  Mighty  sorry,  fur  Mort 
is  er  good-hearted  feller.  He's  ready  now  ter  forgive 
ever'body,  an'  I  thought  I'd  go  by  an'  tell  him  that  I 
know'd  who  whupped  him." 

"You  infernal  hound!"  exclaimed  Len;  "do  you  sup 
pose  that  I  will  allow  you  to  marry  that  girl?" 

"Oh,  wall,  ther  gal  will  do  jest  whut  ther  ole  man 
says.  Ther  ole  man  an'  me  air  good  frien's,  an'  he'll  do 
jest  whut  I  say.  Wall,  podner,  I've  got  ter  go.  Must 
go  over  ter  Hobdy's  ter-night.  Say,"  he  added  when  he 
had  reached  the  door,  "ef  Ned  don't  come  ter-mor'  yer 
needn't  be  s'prised,  fur  ther  mout  be  some  marryin' 
goin'  on  putty  soon.  Good-day.  BTeve  I'll  go  by  an' 
see  when  Mort's  goin'  ter  be  buried." 


190  LEN  GANSETT. 


XX. 

WHEN  Honeycut  departed,  which  he  did  after  many 
knowing  winks  and  not  a  few  repetitions  of  a  malicious 
grin, — a  facial  accomplishment  which  he  had  highly 
cultivated, — Len,  in  a  perplexed  state  of  mind,  sat  down 
and  gave  himself  up  to  agitated  meditation.  He  knew 
that  in  the  event  of  Haney's  death  Honeycut  would  play 
upon  Hobdy's  fear  until  the  old  man  would  implore  his 
daughter  to  relinquish  her  place  in  the  printing-office. 
The  editor  decided  to  go  over  to  Hobdy's  without  delay, 
and,  with  this  idea  in  view,  he  closed  his  office  early  in 
the  afternoon  and  set  out  for  the  home  of  the  beautiful 
apprentice. 

Occasional  gusts  of  rain,  in  fitful  sputter,  came  down. 
The  muffled  dove,  high  upon  the  dead  branch  of  a  tree, 
tucked  down  her  head  in  resignation,  and  the  crow,  with 
cheerless  cry,  flew  over  the  old  field  long  since  given  up 
to  sedge  grass,  running  briers,  and  sprouts.  The  clouds 
were  full  of  frowns  and  tears — angry  meditation  and 
violent  outbursts  of  grief.  The  water,  falling  upon  the 
dead  leaves,  produced  a  feeling  which  is  nowhere  felt 
save  in  the  country, — the  feeling  that  an  old  man  has 
just  been  buried.  In  the  winter,  when  the  tall  trees  are 
bare,  and  when  the  saplings,  with  youthful  attachment, 
cling  to  their  dead  leaves,  the  fresh  clay  thrown  from  an 
old  man's  grave  seems  to  invite  the  rain. 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  do,"  Len  mused  as  he  strode 
onward.  "I  can  tell  the  old  man  what  a  pity  it  would 


be  to  take  Ned  from  the  office;  but  can  I  keep  her,  if 
he  insists  upon  it,  from  marrying  that  wretch?  Of 
course  she  would  do  almost  anything  to  protect  her 
father,  but  to  yield  to  a  fate  a  thousand  times  worse  than 
death — well,  the  old  man  should  not  think  of  such  a 
thing.  But,  after  all,  how  can  he  help  himself?  His  aim 
is  to  protect  his  own  life;  but  can  he  not,  and  with  de 
fensible  cause,  kill  Honey  cut?  Damn  it,  can  I  not  kill 
him!  No;  it  would  be  murder, — a  murder  which  neither 
God  nor  man  would  excuse.  I  wish  that  the  scoundrel 
would  try  to  kill  me!  I  believe  it  would  be  a  Christian 
act  to  provoke  him.  So  help  me,  God,  yonder  he  stands 
in  the  road!" 

Honeycut  waited  for  Len  to  approach. 
"Wy,  helloa/'  said  he,  when  Len  drew  near,  "whut 
air  yer  doin'?  Tryin'  ter  slip  edgeways  'twixt  these 
showers?  Ef  yer  air  goin'  my  way  I'll  jine  yer.  Been 
er-pokin'  round'  in  ther  woods  ever  sense  I  left  yer. 
Seed  one  uv  ther  Tally  boys  jest  now,  an'  he  tole  me  that 
Haney  ain't  no  better.  Pity  fur  sich  er  man  ter  die,  ain't 
it?" 

"Yes,  when  there  are  other  men  who  so  much  more 
deserve  death,"  Len  replied. 

"That's  whut  I  'lowed,  an'  is  whut  I'm  goin'  ter  say 
at  ther  burryin'.  Never  seed  me  at  er  fun'ral,  did  yer? 
Oh,  I'm  ther  cap'n  when  it  comes  ter  burryin'  folks! 
Euther  burry  er  good  man  than  ter  eat.  Better  ter  me 
than  a  candy-pullin'.  Do  yer  know  these  heah  woods 
is  gittin'  dang'us?  They  air.  Feller  wuz  tackled  in 
here  t'other  day.  'Fore  I  left  town  er  frien'  uv  mine, 
big  merchant,  'suaded  me  ter  take  this  here  pistol."  He 


]92  LEN  G  AN  SETT. 

drew  out  a  large  pistol,  looked  at  it,  returned  it  to  its 
place  and  added:  "Wouldn't  like  ter  shoot  er  good  man, 
but  he  mustn't  shove  me.  Hain't  got  er  pistol,  have 


yer?" 

"No,"  Len  replied,  before  he  thought.  He  immedi 
ately  perceived  a  change  in  Honeycut's  countenance. 

"Wall,"  Honeycut  replied,  with  a  grin,  "when  yer 
want  one  let  me  know,  an'  I'll  'commerdate  yer.  Pow 
erful  ban'  ter  'commerdate  folks.  My  father  an'  all  my 
folks  wuz  thater  way.  Look  here,  whicher  way  yer 
goin?  Ain't  that  yer  neardest  road?"  pointing.  "Yer 
mus'  be  goin'  summers  else." 

"I  don't  know  that  it's  any  of  your  business." 
"No,  not  in  purticuler.    Jest  thought  I'd  ax." 
For  some  distance  they  walked  on  in  silence. 
"Goin'  over  ter  Hobdy's,  ain't  yer?"  Honeycut  asked. 
"Yes." 
"Whut  fur?" 
"None  of  your  business." 

"I  reckon  it  is,  though.  Now,  look  er  here,  young 
feller,  I  wanter  tell  yer  suthin'.  I  want  yer  ter  stop 
med'lin'  with  my  bus'ness.  I  never  have  fooled  with  yer 
er  tall,  an'  with  me  ever'thing  went  on  all  right  tell  yer 
come  inter  ther  neighborhood.  I  reckon  yer  air  er  leetle 
stronger  than  I  am,  but  gunpowder  talks  as  well  fur  one 
man  as  fur  ernuther.  Yer  needn't  go  over  ter  Hobdy's. 
I  ain't  erfeered  that  yer  ken  change  ther  ole  man's  mine, 
but  yer  mout  worry  ther  gal." 

"It  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  me  what  you  want." 

"No,  an'  it  didn't  make  no  diffunce  ter  ther  June  bug 

what  ther  duck  wanted,  but  it  happened  that  ther  duck 


LEN  GANStiTT.  193 

wanted  ther  June  bug.  Don't  walk  so  clost  ter  me. 
Keep  off  er  leetle.  This  here  pistol  is  powerful  easy  on 
trigger.  Yer  mout  think  yer  could  jump  on  me  an' 
take  it  away  from  me,  but  yer  kain't." 

"It  is  against  the  law  to  carry  concealed  weapons," 
Len  remarked,  deeply  regretting  that  he  had  failed  to 
provide  himself  with  one. 

"Yas,  ergin  ther  law;  an'  it's  ergin  ther  law  ter  kill 
er  man,  yet  folks  do  it." 

"Murderers  do." 

"That's  whut  they  tell  me." 

"You  ought  to  know  without  being  told." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  I  daresay  you  might,  to  some  extent,  rely  on  your 
own  experience." 

"I  don't  know  what  yer  air  tryin'  ter  git  at,  young 
feller,  an'  I  don't  keer  a  damn,  but  what  I  said  jes'  now 
erbout  not  wantin'  yer  ter  meddle  in  my  erf  airs  is  jes' 
whut  I  meant.  Me  an'  ther  ole  man  has  got  'rangements 
that  nobody  but  ourselves  understands'  an'  which  it 
would  be  sorter  dang'us  ter  pry  inter." 

"Honeycut,  your  warning  is  wasted  on  me.  It  is  like 
throwing  sand  against  a  suspended  wire.  None  of  it 
finds  a  lodgment.  I  know  that  you  are  a  desperate  fel 
low,  and  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  keen  interest  which 
you  feel  in  your  own  safety  you  would  attempt  to  do  me 
violence.  I  know  that  you  are  incapable  of  a  manly 
thought  or  generous  impulse,  and,  above  all,  I  know  that 
you  are  a  damned  coward.  Just  now  I  told  you  that  I 
had  no  pistol.  If  I  have  told  an  untruth,  pardon  me." 

Honeycut's   manner   underwent   an  instant  change. 


194  LEN  G  AN  SETT. 

"Thar  ain't  no  use'n  jowerin',"  said  he.  "Reckon  a  man 
ken  talk.  Jes'  wanted  yer  ter  un'erstan'  that  I  didn't 
want  yer  ter  meddle  with  my  bus'ness.  Ain't  nothin' 
wrong  in  that,  but  here  yer  go  an'  git  mad'n  er  wet  hen. 
Ef  yer  want  ter  go  over  an'  call  on  ther  ole  man,  w'y,  uv 
co'se  I  kain't  keep  yer  frum  it;  but  I  ken  keep  ther  gal 
frum  workin'  in  ther  printin'-ofnce,  an'  I'm  goin'  ter 
do  it." 

"Well,  we'll  see  about  that." 

"B'l'eve  I'll  turn  off  here  an'  go  by  er  place  whar  I've 
got  some  business  that  needs  tendin'  ter.  Yer  won't 
be  over  at  thar  old  man's  many  minits  till  yer  see  me  er 
jog'in'  erlong  in  ther  cummunity.  So  long." 

Len  did  not  reply.  He  did  not  even  look  to  see  which 
direction  Honeycut  had  taken,  but,  with  quickened  step, 
hurried  onward.  A  nervous  fear  lay  cold  against  his 
heart.  When  he  reached  Hobdy's  house  he  found  Ned, 
seemingly  forgetful  of  surroundings,  bending  over  a 
book.  She  looked  up  with  a  start  when  Len  tapped  on 
the  facing  of  the  opened  door. 

"Come  in,"  she  said,  arising  and  placing  a  chair  near 
the  fire.  "Why,  how  wet  you  are!  What  made  you  come 
out  on  such  a  day?  Come  over  here  to  scold  me  for  not 
comin' — coming  to  the  office  this  morning,  didn't  you?" 

"How  could  you  come  when  the  weather  was  so  bad? 
Where  is  your  father?" 

"Gone  to  his  trap.  He'll  be  back  putty — pretty  soon, 
and  maybe  he'll  bring  some  partridges  with  him.  If  he 
does,  I  must  send  some  over  to  your  grandma." 

"What  are  you  reading?"  Len  asked,  taking  the  book 
from  her  lap. 

"It's  a  grammar." 


LEN  GANSETT.  195 

"Ah,  hah,  becoming  more  and  more  a  student.  Do 
you  like  grammar?" 

"I  don't  know  enough  about  it  to  tell  yit — yet.  It's 
full  of  awful  hard  words,  and  sometimes  it  gets  as  dry 
as  a  chip  in  August;  but  I  stick  to  it." 

"You  can't  do  anything  with  it  alone." 

"Yes,  I  can,  but  I  don't  get  along  as  fast  as  I  could 
if  somebody  was  to  help  me;  but,  after  all,  when  I  learn 
anything  by  myself  I  know  it  better  than  if  somebody 
was  to  learn  it  to  me." 

"Teach  it  to  you.  No  one  can  learn  you  anything, 
but  can  teach  you." 

"I'll  remember  that,  but  there  are  so  many  little 
things  to  remember.  Here  comes  dad,  but  he  ain't  got 
no  partridges." 

"Evenin',  evenin'  ter  yer,"  said  Hobdy,  as  he  entered 
the  room.  "Keep  yer  cheer.  Wall,  how're  yer  gittin' 
along?"  he  added  as  he  and  Len  shook  hands. 

"Very  well." 

"Does  my  gal  put  yer  ter  any  trouble?"  the  old  man 
asked,  as  he  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down. 

"Oh,  no,  she  does  her  work  so  well  that  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  have  her  in  the  office." 

The  old  man  smiled,  looked  at  his  daughter  and 
said: — 

"An*  1'arn — w'y,  I  never  seed  ther  like.  She  ken  read 
now  almost  like  er  preacher.  Fur  some  time  she's  been 
readin'  me  a  mighty  fine  book  that  she  got  in  town.  It's 
all  erbout  er  young  feller  that  had  a  step-daddy  that  I 
would  like  to  knock  down,  an  er  big  ole  feller  wuz  allus 
watin' — what  wuz  he  watin'  fur,  Ned?" 


196  LEN  OANSETT. 

"Something  to  turn  up.  The  book  is  'David  Copper- 
field/  " 

"Oh,  yes;  allus  wain'  fur  suthin'  ter  turn  up.  Thar's 
some  powerful  fine  readin'  in  that  book.  Sometimes  I 
git  sorter  skeer'd  an'  don't  see  how  things  air  goin'  ter 
turn  out,  but  airter  while  they  come  out  all  right.  When 
N"ed  got  through  with  it  I  told  her  ter  begin  at  the  fust 
an'  read  it  all  over  ag'in;  and  she  dun  it,  sar, — dun  it  as 
easy  as  er  greased  wag'in  goin'  down  hill.  I  want  her 
ter  keep  on  er  readin'  it  till  I  can.  almost  talk  it  off. 
Then  when  she's  erway  I  ken  think  erbout  it  an'  laugh 
at  ther  funny  ole  feller,  an'  kick  ther  step-daddy,  an' 
haul  off  an'  smack  his  heffer  uv  a,  sister  that  tuck  the 
keys  away  frum  ther  boy's  mother.  An'  that  other  fel 
ler  that  worked  fer  ther  lawyer, — ther  feller  that  grab 
bed  holt  uv  er  hoss  an'  breathed  in  his  nostrils — " 

"Uriah  Heep,"  said  Len. 

"Yes,  that's  ther  very  feller.  Do  yer  know  what  I'd 
like  ter  do?"  I'd  like  ter  take  er  green  hoop-pole,  stan' 
off  erbout  five  feet,  an'  wrap  it  eroun'  him  erbout  three 
times." 

"Think  it  would  do  him  good,  eh?"  Len  laughingly 
replied. 

"Don't  know  erbout  that,  but  it  would  do  me  er  pow 
erful  chance  uv  good  ter  larrup  him.  Lemme  see,  thar 
wuz  ernuther  feller,  what's  his  name, — Midlirf,  I 
b'l'eve." 

"Midling"  Len  repeated. 

"Yas,  ther  feller  that  went  out  in  ther  water  ter  keep 
er  feller  frum  drowndin'  an'  got  drownded  hisse'f." 

"Oh,  you  mean  Ham, — Ham  Peggotty." 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  197 

"Yas,  Ham,  that's  er  fack.  Knowed  his  name  wuz 
hog-meat  uv  some  sort.  Now,  Ham,  he  wa'n't  no  slouch, 
as  yer  go  erlong." 

"No,  he  was  a  good  and  brave  fellow." 

"Oh,  he  wuz  er  spunky  feller  as  ever  lived.  Whut 
'pears  ter  be  the  matter  with  yer,  Mr.  Gansett?  Look 
like  yer  air  sorter  sad  erbout  suthin'.  Ef  thar's  anythin' 
ther  matter,  out  with  it." 

Ned  looked  searchingly  at  Len.  "Is  it  something 
about  me?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  Len  replied,  "it  is  something  about  you." 

He  then  related  a  part  of  the  conversation  which  he 
had  held  with  Honeycut,  taking  care,  however,  to  make 
no  allusion  to  Haney.  The  old  man's  face  grew  dark. 
"Ned,"  said  he,  slowly  turning  to  his  daughter,  "wush 
yer  would  go  out  erwhile  till  me  an'  Mr.  Gansett  talk 
this  here  matter  over." 

Ned  obeyed  without  replying.  When  she  reached  the 
door  she  turned  and  cast  an  imploring  glance  at  Len. 

"I  don't  know  what  ter  do,"  said  old  man  Hobdy, 
when  Ned  had  gone.  "How  come  him  ter  change  his 
notion?  T'other  week  he  talked  like  he  wuz  might'ly 
pleased." 

"It  is  useless  to  attempt  to  keep  up  with  his  whims," 
Len  replied.  "The  best  plan,  in  fact,  is  to  pay  no 
attention  to  him." 

"Wush  ter  God  I  could  pay  no  ertention  ter  him,  but 
what  am  I  ter  do?  Yer  see  he's  got  me  on  his  hip,  an' 
ken  fling  me  any  way  he  wants  ter." 

"I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  so  bad  as  you  think.  A 
threat  is  quite  enough  to  settle  the  coward.  Tell  him 


198  LEN  GANSETT. 

plainly  that  if  he  interferes  with  your  affairs  that  you 
will  kill  him." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  I  can't  do  that,  fur  he  knows  that  I 
wouldn't  kill  him.  Ain't  that  him  er  comin'  yander? 
Yas,  it  is.  Hush,  Mr.  Gansett!  Don't  let  him  know 
whut  we  wuz  talkin'  erbout." 

Honeycut  entered  without  ceremony,  sat  down, 
stretched  out  his  legs  and  struck  the  heels  of  his  boots 
together,  scattering  mud  over  the  hearthstone. 

"How's  yer  rheumatiz,  ole  man?"  Honeycut  asked. 

"Ain't  felt  it  fur  some  time,"  Hobdy  replied;  "but  I 
don't  know  how  soon  it  mout  hop  erstraddle  uv  me." 

"N"o,  I  reckon  not,  but  yer  air  well  ernuff  ter  go  ter 
er  weddin',  ain't  yer?" 

"Who  is  going  to  be  married?"  Len  asked,  giving 
Honeycut  a  look  not  bespeaking  gentleness. 

"I  am— me  an'  Ned." 

"When  do  you  think  the  ceremony  will  take  place?" 
Len  asked. 

"Thought  it  mout  take  place  ter-mor'." 

"So  soon?"  Len  inquired,  with  mock  interest. 

"Yas,  never  like  ter  put  nothin'  off  too  long.  Ef  yer 
air  in  ther  neighborhood  yer  better  come  roun." 

"I  think  that  I  will  be  present  when  Miss  Hobdy  is 
married,  but  I  don't  think  she  will  be  married  very 
soon." 

"Yer  'pear  ter  know  suthin'  erbout  it/' 

"Oh,  yes,  I  generally  keep  well  informed  with  regard 
to  the  actions  of  people  in  whom  I  take  an  interest." 

"Putty  smart  feller,  ain't  yer?" 


LEN  GANSETT.  199 

"Well,  I  hope  that  I  am  not  a  fool,  and  I'm  pretty 
certain  that  I  am  not  a  coward." 

"That  mout  be,"  Honeycut  replied,  nodding  his  head 
toward  Hobdy,  "but  I  know  er  ole  feller  what  ain't  so 
brave." 

"Gentlewm,"  said  Hobdy,  "please  don't  talk  p'inted. 
I'm  gittin'  ole,  an'  don't  know  when  ther  rheumatiz 
mout  hop  straddle  uv  me,  so  don't  talk  p'inted." 

"Never  yer  mine,"  replied  Honeycut,  "me  an'  him  air 
talkin'  now.  Me  an'  yerse'f  will  talk  when  he  goes 
home." 

"I  have  said  nothing  of  going  home,"  Len  rejoined. 

"No,  but  if  yer  don't  want  ter  hear  me  an'  ther  ole 
man  talkin'  erbout  ther  weddin'  yer  better  go.  Hobdy, 
I  wanter  take  Ned  outer  ther  printin'-office  right  erway. 
What  do  yer  say?" 

"W'y,  Mr.  Honeycut,  yer  know — " 

"Never  mind,"  Len  broke  in;  "don't  pay  any  attention 
to  this  fellow.  The  girl  shall  not  be  taken  from  the 
office,  from  an  employment  in  which  she  takes  so  much 
interest, — an  employment  which  has  opened  uf)  a  new 
life  to  her." 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Gansett,"  said  old  Hobdy;  "but  I  reckon 
she's  dun  larn't  ernuff.  She — w'y,  here's  Braley!  Come 
in,  Mr.  Braley;  wuz  jes'  talkin'  erbout  yer.  Set  down." 

Braley  shook  hands  all  around.  He  had  just  returned, 
he  said,  from  an  expedition  which  he  hoped  would  be  re 
warded  with  a  middling  of  meat,  but  which  had  been  a 
failure. 

"Drapped  in,  as  I  come  erlong,  to  see  Mort  Haney." 


200  LEN  GANSETT. 

Honeycut  looked  up.  Len,  in  tones  of  anxiety  which 
he  could  not  conceal,  asked: — 

"How  is  Haney?  Does  the  doctor  think  that  there  is 
any  hope  of  his  recovery?" 

"Wall,  he  aughter.  Mort  is  pickin'  up  right  erlong. 
Wuz  eaten  er  ash-cake  while  I  was  thar.  He  got  better 
all  on  er  sudden.  Oh,  he's  all  right,  an*  will  be  out  in 
'er  day  ur  two." 

Honeycut  got  up,  and,  addressing  Hobdy,  said: — 

"I  wuz  jes'  er-jokin'  erbout  advisin'  yer  ter  take  yer 
daughter  outen  ther  printin'-offke.  I  reckon  it's  ther 
best  place  fur  her.  Wall,  folks,  I  mus'  be  er-shovin'. 
Good-evenin'." 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  201 


XXI. 

SUGGESTIONS  of  spring  were  breathed  in  the  air,  the 
cold  wind  of  winter  was  softened  into  the  budding 
season's  gentle  sigh.  The  legislature  had  adjourned. 
Doekery,  with  his  characteristic  love  for  the  discharge  of 
duty,  had  voted  for  an  extension  of  the  time.  The. 
session  had  been  extended,  and  during  a  few  more  days 
the  ex-editor  had  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  law-making; 
but  now  the  distinction  was  gone,  and  he  had  returned 
home  to  receive  the  praise  and  the  censure  of  his  con 
stituents. 

"Gansett,"  said  Dockery,  meeting  Len  shortly  after 
the  praise,  but  particularly  the  censure,  had  begun  to 
sound  in  his  ears,  "don't  you  think  that  I  discharged 
my  duty?  Sit  down  here  on  this  log" — they  had  met  in 
the  woods — "and  tell  me  like  a  man.  I  know  you  can 
talk  like  a  man  when  you  want  to.  Damn  it!" — lowering 
his  voice, — "my  sensible  constituents  are  pleased,  but  my 
weak  ones  have  the  temerity,  or  lack  of  sense,  rather,  to 
insinuate  that  I  was  not  only  derelict,  but  that — well,  in 
short,  they  impugn  my  motives.  They  have  talked  in 
this  way  until  I  am  sick;  so  now,  my  brave  boy,  I  want 
you  to  say  something  to  lift  me  up — point  out  in  your 
own  masterly  way  the  good  features  of  my  stewardship. 
Just  give  it  to  them  from  the  shoulder.  In  short  they've 
got  a  horse  on  me,  and  I  want  you  to  take  up  the  thing 
and  give  them  one  dash  out  of  the  box.  What  do  you 
say?" 


202  LEN  GANSETT. 

"I  don't  think  that  there's  any  use  in  saying  anything," 
Len  replied.  "There  is  no  campaign  going  on.  Let  the 
matter  rest." 

"Let  hell  rest!" 

"Well.,  yes,  let  hell  rest,  for  I  should  think  that  it 
needs  one." 

"That's  good  enough  for  a  side  remark;  but  now, 
really,  let  us  get  down  to  business.  I  want  you,  as  a 
favor  to  me, — you  know  that  I  elevated  you  to  the  high 
position  which  you  now  occupy  in  the  great  fraternity 
of  journalism, — yes,  as  a  favor  to  me,  to  me,  you  under 
stand,  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  few  lines — wait  a  minute. 
Here  is  something  I've  scratched  off.  I'll  read  it."  He 
then  read  the  following: — 

"There  is  no  position  more  trying  than  that  of  a 
legislator.  It  is  impossible  to  please  everybody,  and 
sensible  men  understand  this,  but  there  are  a  few  cranks 
who  do  not.  The  best  people  of  this  county  know  that 
the  Hon.  Mangus  Dockery  has  discharged  his  duty;  that 
he  was  the  leading  member  of  the  house  and  chairman 
of  one  of  the  important  committees;  that  his  speeches 
were  the  best  of  the  session;  that  he  warmly  supported 
the  bill  reducing  the  ruinous  salaries  of  State  officers,  but 
there  are  a  few  envious  sore-heads  who  are  growling  at 
the  Hon.  Mr.  Dockery.  Chief  among  these  is  old  Mat 
Mason.  Everybody  knows  that  Mat  is  a  fool,  and  that, 
for  some  of  his  little  practices,  he  narrowly  escaped  the 
penitentiary  several  years  ago.  He  is  a  disgrace  to  this 
community.  We  have  taken  much  interest,  have  studied 
with  pleasure  and  profit  the  high  political  course  taken 


LEN  GANSETT.  203 

by  the  Hon.  Mr.  Dockery,  and  we  believe  that  he  is 
good  congressional  timber." 

"How  does  that  strike  you?"  Dockery  asked,  carefully 
folding  the  paper  and  placing  it  on  Len's  knee.  "Does 
she  go?" 

"I'll  print  it  on  one  condition." 

"Name  an  honorable  condition,  and  I  will  accept  it, 
Gansett.    What  is  the  condition?" 
"That  you  sign  your  name  to  it." 
"My  stars  alive!  man — that  would  never  do." 
"Why?" 

"Why?"  Damn  it,  don't  you  know  why?  Old  Mat 
came  in  one  of  going  to  the  penitentiary  for  killing  a 
man.  If  I  were  to  sign  it  he'd  shoot  me." 

"Yes,  and  don't  you  suppose  that  if  I  were  to  print 
it  as  an  editorial  he  would  shoot  me?" 
"Not  the  least  danger  in  the  world." 
"Then  why  would  he  shoot  you?" 
"Because  he  don't  like  me,  and  has  had  it  in  for  me 
for  some  time." 

The  paper  fell  to  the  ground.  A  breeze  caught  it  up 
and  bore  it  several  yards  away.  Dockery  arose  to  go 
after  it,  but,  after  advancing  a  few  steps,  turned,  and 
said: — 

"Gansett,  I  did  not  think  that  you  were  afraid  of  any 
body.    I  had  always  thought  that  you  were  a  fighter." 
"I  hope,"  Len  replied,  "that  you  never  thought  I  was 
a  fool." 

"Oh,  now,  here,  what's  the  use  in  trying  to  turn  it 
off  that  way?  Print  the  thing,  and  I  will  make  it  all 


204  LEN  GANSETT. 

right  with  you.    An  act  of  simple  justice  was  never  lost 
on  me,  Gansett." 

Then  they  engaged  in  a  heated  discussion  more  char 
acterized  by  force  than  by  elegance  of  expression.  They 
did  not  observe  the  approach  of  an  old  fellow  with  long 
hair  and  frowsy  eye-brows.  The  old  fellow  was  Mat 
Mason.  He  was  walking  with  his  head  inclined  forward, 
and  with  his  eyes  cast  downward.  Another  breeze  had 
blown  the  paper  still  farther  away.  Mason,  suddenly 
coming  upon  it,  took  it  up  and  began  to  spell  out  its 
contents.  When  he  had  read  it  he  looked  about  him, 
and,  seeing  Len  and  Dockery,  he  cautiously  approached. 
"Now,"  said  Mr.  Dockery  to  Len,  "there  is  no  earthly 
danger  in  printing  it.  I  don't  want  him  to  know  that 
I  wrote  it,  for — " 

"The  danger  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  Len  broke  in. 
"The  question  of  justice  is  the  one  to  be  considered. 
Mason  has  never  done  me  any  harm/' 

"Yes,  but  he  has  hurt  the  county  and  State  by  his  war 
on  me,  damn  him!  I —  Why,  how  are  you,  Mr.  Mason? 
I — I — am  glad  to  see  you." 

Len  burst  out  laughing.    Dockery  said: — 
"Gansett  and  I  were  just  talking  about  you.    I  said 
that  you  had  made  war  on  me,  but  that  you  did  it  not 
through  bad  motives,  but  because  you  were  honestly 
mistaken  in  me." 

"Yas,  glad  ter  he'r  yer  say  it.  By  ther  way,  Mr.  Dock 
ery,  I'm  lookin'  fur  er  man." 

"Who's  the  man?  If  I  can  aid  you  in  your  search  I 
shall  most  willingly  do  so." 

"Fm  lookin'  fur  ther  feller  what  writ  this  here,"  said 


LEN  6ANSETT.  205 

the  old  man,  striking  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  with  the 
paper.     Dockery  turned  pale. 

"Know  anything  erbout  it?"  old  Mat  asked. 
'"Let  me  see  it,"  said  Dockery.  He  took  the  paper 
and  with  trembling  hands  held  it  out  and  pretended  to 
read  it.  "No,  sir,"  said  he,  "I  don't  know  who  wrote 
it,  but  if  I  find  out  I'll  come  and  tell  you.  If  he  be  a 
friend  of  mine,  and  he  seems  to  be,  I  will  reprimand 
him." 

"Yas,  I  reckon  so.  Mr.  Gansett,  do  you  know  who 
writ  this  paper?" 

"I  will  shield  the  fellow,"  Len  had  been  musing.  "He 
has  no  courage,  and  cannot  help  it."  When  old  Mat 
asked  the  question,  Len  quickly  replied,  "I  wrote  it, 
and  while  we  were  discussing  its  main  points  a  breeze 
blew  it  away." 

"Yes,"  said  Dockery,  "a  breeze — in  fact,  an  ill  wind 
which  blows  no  good — blew  it  away." 

"Mr.  Gansett,  I  like  er  brave  man,  an'  nothin'  stirs 
me  more  than  ter  see  er  man  take  on  himself  suthin' 
what  another  man  is  er  feered  ter  acknowledge.  I 
heard  whut  yer  wuz  talkin'  erbout,  an'  I  know  that 
Dockery  writ  this  stuff.  I  oughter  kick  him  all  through 
these  woods,  but  as  he  has  sich  er  noble  man  interested 
in  his  cause  I'll  satisfy  myself  by  givin'  him  one  only." 

He  gave  Dockery  a  vigorous  kick,  and  without  re 
maining  to  exchange  another  word,  sauntered  away. 
Dockery  looked  after  him,  and  when  he  was  beyond  ear 
shot,  said: — 

"He  thinks  he's  the  smartest  man  in  this  eommunity, 
but  he's  a  damned  fool/' 


206  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Why  didn't  you  knock  him  down  when  he  kicked 
you?/'  Len  smilingly  asked. 

"Gansett,"  Dockery  impressively  replied,  "acts  of 
violence  do  not  enter  into  my  mode  of  warfare.  I  make 
war  on  corruption  in  high  places.  I  battle  for  the  lowly 
and  humble,  not  with  a  brute  force,  but  with  the  might 
ier  weapon  of  the  brain.  I  was  astonished  at  you,  Len." 

"Why  so?" 

"Don't  you  know  that  when  you  told  Mason  that  you 
wrote  the  thing  he  disputed  your  word.  Might  just  as 
well  have  called  you  a  liar.  You  ought  to  have  knocked 
him  down.  -  Oh,"  the  ex-editor  continued,  when  Len 
burst  out  laughing,  "it's  no  laughing  matter.  A  man 
must  protect  his  honor.  Well,  I  must  be  going.  Isn't 
that  Mason  coming  along  yonder?  No,  it's  old  Mort 
Haney.  Well,  take  care  of  yourself." 

The  "Picket"  was  now  quite  a  newspaper.  Old  Bob 
Gansett  declared  that  it  was  the  best  sheet  ever  printed, 
and  his  wife  asseverated  that  if  her  dear  grandson  would 
only  print  more  religious  and  less  news  matter  the  paper 
would  be  a  great  blessing  to  the  community.  The  old 
couple  were  proud  of  Len.  Mrs.  Gansett  was  particularly 
so  after  hearing  Brother  Murray  say  that  the  editor  was 
a  man  of  good  sense,  and  that  he  would  have  made  an 
excellent  circuit  rider. 

"Ned  grows  better-looking  all  the  time,"  old  Bob  one 
evening  remarked  to  Len.  "Never  saw  such  a  change  in 
a  gal,  never  in  my  born  days.  Smart,  too,  eh?" 

"One  of  the  most  intelligent  creatures  I  have  ever 
seen.  She  makes  me  ashamed  of  myself." 

"Sets  type  right  pert,  I  reckon." 


LEN  GANSETT.  207 

"Yes,  and  not  only  that,  she  has  became  quite  a 
grammarian.  She  reads  the  best  books,  and  instead  of 
being  a  simpering  girl,  such  as  the  schools  turn  out,  she 
is  thoughtful  and  deep.  Instead  of  being  the  girl  who 
writes,  'Classmates'  we  have  met  to  part,  to  go  out  into 
the  busy  world/  and  so  on,  she  can  write  up  an  event  in 
a  correct  and  concise,  way.  She  is  a  wonderful  girl." 

"Have  you  said  anything  to  her  lately  about 
marryin'  ?" 

"I  hinted  at  something  of  the  kind  yesterday,  but  she 
reminded  me  of  a  promise  I  was  compelled  to  make  her 
when  she  first  went  into  the  office." 

"Has  Honey  cut  said  anything  more?" 

"No,  he  keeps  out  of  the  way.  I  think  that  Colonel 
Bently  said  something  to  him." 

"Did  you  speak  to  the  colonel  about  it?" 

"No,  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Ned  did." 

"Bently  is  the  only  man  that  can  do  anything  with 
Honeycut." 

"Yes,  for  the  reason  that  he  almost  supports  the  fel 
low.  Bently  does  not  like  him,  but  cannot  resist  his 
entreaties." 

"Is  old  Hobdy  satisfied?" 

"Thoroughly.  He  has  become  passionately  fond  of 
novels,  and  declares  that  he  has  entered  upon  the  hap 
piest  time  of  his  life." 

"Len,"  said  Mrs.  Gansett,  entering  the  room,  "I've  got 
some  good  news  for  you." 

"What  is  it,  grandma?" 

"W'y,  Brother  Murray  tells  me  that  he  will  write  out 
Ms  sermons  an'  let  you  print  'em." 


208  LEX  GAN8ETT. 

Len's  countenance  fell.  The  old  man  roared  with 
laughter. 

"Now,  Bob,  you  neenter  laugh,  for  it  is  a  fact.  He 
told  me  so  yistidy." 

"Oh,  I  don't  doubt  he  told  you/' 

"Then  whut  air  you  laughin'  at?" 

"Laughin'  at  Len." 

"Whut  air  you  laughin'  at  him  fur?  He  did  tell  me 
so/' 

"Oh,  I  don't  doubt  that." 

"Whut,  then  air  you  laughin'  at?    Say." 

"Ask  Len." 

"Whut  is  he  laughin'  at,  Len?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  he  thinks  that  I  don't  care  to  print  the 
sermons." 

"But  you  do,  don't  you?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say  that  I  hanker  after  the  distinction." 

The  old  lady  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment, 
and  with  an  air  of  bewilderment  regarded  her  grandson. 

"I  don't  question  their  merit,  grandma,"  said  Len, 
"but  I  cannot  afford  to  fill  up  my  paper  with  them." 

The  old  lady  sighed  and  turned  awa}r.  Old  man  Gan- 
sett  sprang  from  his  seat,  hastened  to  the  door,  and 
looked  out. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter,  Bob?"  the  old  lady 
asked. 

The  old  man,  turning  from  the  door,  said,  "No,  he 
hasn't  done  it  yit." 

"Who  hasn't  done  whut?    Tell  me." 

"Why,  Brother  Murray  hasn't  set  the  river  afire  yit." 

"You  good-for-nothing!"  the  old  lady  rejoined,  smil- 


LEN  GANSETT.  209 

ing  in  spite  of  herself.  "You  need  a  beatin',  if  anybody 
in  this  world  ever  did.  It  'pears  like  the  older  you  git 
the  wus  you  air.  Never  mind,  you'll  think  o'  all  this 
when  I'm  dead  an'  gone.  You'll  think  o'  how  you  have 
mighty  nigh  harassed  the  life  outen  me.  Never  mind, 
sir.  It'll  all  come  back  to  you  when  it's  too  late." 

One  day  Bently  came  to  the  office  and  told  Len  that 
he  had  urgent  business  with  him.  An  addition  to  the 
office  had  been  built,  and  Len  now  enjoyed  the  luxury 
of  a  room  from  intrusion.  When  the  colonel  had  been 
conducted  to  the  room,  Len,  after  closing  the  door, 
said: — 

"Now  I  am  at  your  service/' 

"Are  you  very  busy?" 

"No,  not  very." 

"Let  us  sit  a  while  and  talk."  He  passed  his  hand  over 
his  forehead,  as  if  he  would  wipe  away  a  troubled 
thought,  and  said: — 

"We  are  friends,  I  hope,  Gansett." 

"Most  assuredly." 

A  few  minutes  of  silence  followed.  The  colonel 
looked  at  Len  as  though  he  were  trying  to  read  the 
young  man's  soul.  The  situation  became  embarrassing. 
"Did  you  ever  read  'Michiavel'?"  the  colonel  asked. 

"No?  sir,  I  do  not  like  him." 

"Ah!" 

Another  silence  followed.  The  colonel  arose  and 
thoughtfully  walked  the  floor.  He  paused,  put  his  hand 
on  the  young  man's  arm  and  looked  into  his  eyes. 

"Do  you  know,  Gansett,  that  I  doubt  man  in  general." 

"We  all  do,  sometimes." 


210  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Very  true." 

He  resumed  his  walk,  continued  it  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then,  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner,  said: — 

"Well,  I'll  come  over  some  other  time  and  see  you;  or, 
perhaps,  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  come  over  and  see 
me." 

"All  right;  but  say,  colonel,  are  you  in  need  of  money? 
If  so,  I  can,  perhaps,  make  the  last  payment  on  the 
office  before  it  is  due." 

"Best  perfectly  easy  on  that  point,  my  dear  boy;  rest 
perfectly  easy.  I  told  you  that  you  need  never  pay  me, 
— for,  indeed,  you  have  greatly  benefited  the  community, 
— and  I  would  not  have  accepted  payment  at  all  had  you 
not  forced  it  upon  me." 

"I  know  that,  colonel." 

"Well,  then,  be  assured  that  I  am  not  needing  money. 
The  matter  of  which  I  wish  to  speak  does  not  refer  to 
money.  Gansett,  I  have  taken  a  deep  interest  in  you, 
and  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  not  become  a  great 
man;  but,"  turning  toward  the  door,  "I  must  go.  Come 
over  Saturday  night  and  stay  all  night  with  me."  He 
stopped  when  he  entered  the  composing-room.  "Hard 
at  work,  I  see." 

"Yes,  rather,"  replied  Collins.  "Got  a  delinquent  tax- 
list  on  hand  and  it  keeps  us  moving.  Used  up  nearly 
all  the  s*orts  in  the  office." 

"Dry  work,  I  dare  say." 

"Dry  to  the  reader,"  Collins  replied,  "but  pretty  moist 
to  the  publisher.  Miss  Hobdy  delights  in  it." 

"No,  I  don't,"  Ned  replied,  getting  off  a  stool  and 
emptying  a  "stick"  of  type.  "I'd  rather  set  up  an  obit- 


LEN  O  AN  SETT.  211 

nary  any  time.  Section  so-and-so,  township  what  not, 
and  range  this  and  that.  It's  just  as  stupid  as  it  can  be." 

"We'll  have  to  be  like  a  fellow  I  knew  in  Texas,"  Col 
lins  replied.  "The  boys  rode  him  on  a  rail  till  he  got 
so  used  to  it  he  wouldn't  travel  any  other  way.  Hired 
two  Mexicans  to  carry  him  around  on  a  rail.  His  wife, 
with  an  eye  to  his  comfort,  padded  the  rail,  but  he 
couldn't  ride  it  until  he  tore  off  the  pad.  Said  that  he 
appreciated  her  kindness,  but  that  he  had  to  consult 
his  own  comfort'.  So  now,  you  see,  we  don't  like  tax- 
lists,  but  after  we  get  used  to  them  we  can't  do  without 
them." 

"Between  the  two,  a  tax-list  and  a  rail, — providing 
it  be  fixed  up  with  a  side  saddle  and  carried  by  able- 
bodied  men, — I  would  choose  the  rail,"  Ned  replied. 

"Gansett,"  said  the  colonel  when  he  reached  the  door, 
"please  do  not  forget  our  engagement." 


212  LEN  GANSETT. 


XXII. 

SATURDAY  evening.  A  violent  storm  was  blowing, 
and  the  rain  streaks, — they  could  scarcely  be  called 
drops, — woven  into  great  gray  sheets,  swept  over  the 
fields. 

"My  gracious  alive,  Len,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gansett, 
"you  are  not  going  out  in  such  a  storm  as  this!" 

"Yes;  I  promised  Colonel  Bently  that  I  would  come 
over  and  stay  all  night  with  him." 

"Done  what?"  asked  old  man  Gansett,  looking  up 
from  an  old  leather-covered  book. 

"Promised  Colonel  Bently  that  I  would  come  over  to 
his  house  this  evening  and  remain  all  night  with  him." 

"But  you  ain't  goin'  to  do  it,  air  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Sich  a  time  as  this!"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  throw 
ing  down  his  book  and  staring  at  Len.  "W'y,  he'll 
think  you're  outen  your  senses  if  you  go  at  sich  a  time  as 
this.  Set  down,  an'  we'll  have  a  snack  to  eat  pretty 
soon." 

"No,  my  mind  is  made  up." 

"Well,"  replied  the  old  man,  taking  up  his  book,  "if 
your  mind  is  made  up  I've  got  no  more  to  say." 

"Now,  Bob,"  interposed  Mrs.  Gansett,  "that's  allus 
the  way.  You  air  allus  ready  to  give  in  without  argy- 
ment  that  mout  result  in  good.  Len  you'd  be  drownded 
in  the  rain,  my  child;  an',  besides  that,  the  horse  would 
almost  be  blinded  an'  mout  run  away  with  you." 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  213 

"I  am  going  to  walk." 

"Let  him  alone,"  said  the  old  man. 

"There  you  go  agin — " 

"Let  him  alone." 

"I  do  wish  't  you'd  hush.  A  body  never  can  say 
nothin'  without  you  have — " 

"Let  him  alone." 

The  old  lady  flounced  intu  a  rocking-chair.  Len  passed 
out  into  the  storm. 

"Why,  Gansett/  exclaimed  Colonel  Bently,  as  he  con 
ducted  the  young  man  into  the  library,  "is  it  possible 
that  you  have  come  at  such  a  time?  Come,  you  must 
change  your  clothes  immediately.  I'll  get  you  the  best 
in  the  house." 

"I  brought  extra  clothes  in  a  water-proof  bag,  which  I 
left  in  the  hall." 

"Well,  you  are  indeed  a  man  of  provision.  Put  on 
your  dry  clothes.  Go  into  the  room  just  across  the 
hall." 

"Now,  I  suppose  you  are  ready  for  supper,"  said  the 
colonel,  when  Len,  having  put  on  dry  clothing,  returned 
to  the  library. 

"I  am  not  hungry;  still,  I  am  always  ready  to  eat  at 
your  table." 

"Thank  you.  By  the  way,  I  have  some  excellent 
brandy.  Better  try  some." 

"No,  I  can  get  along  better  without  it." 

"I  can't  agree  with  you,  Gansett;  however,  we'll  not 
argue  the  point." 

The  colonel  seemed  to  be  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and 
during  supper  entertained  Len  with  anecdotes  and  hum- 


214  LEX  GANSETT. 

erous  bits  of  his  experience.  After  supper,  when  they 
returned  to  the  library,  Len  waited,  not  without  a  feel 
ing  of  impatience,  in  the  hope  that  the  colonel  would 
introduce  the  important  business  at  which  he  had  so 
vaguely  hinted  a  few  days  before,  but  one  anecdote  con 
tinued  to  follow  another  until  the  clock  struck  eleven. 
Gradually  the  colonel  grew  more  serious.  He  drew  Len 
out  on  many  subjects. 

"The  philosophy  of  circumstances  shapes  every  life," 
said  the  colonel. 

"But  it  should  not  be  so,"  Len  rejoined.  "Every  life 
should  shape  circumstances." 

"That,  my  dear  boy,  would  bring  about  an  endless 
conflict,  in  that  different  lives  would  try  to  give  different 
shapes  to  circumstances.  I  do  not  believe  that  a  man 
can  shape  his  destiny,  but  thus  much  I  do  believe.  I 
believe  that  we  often  miss  an  end  simply  because  we  are 
unable  to  discover  it  and  because  we  have  no  one  to 
point  it  out.  We  all  have  a  certain  aim,  a  certain  ideal 
istic  end  to  accomplish.  In  youth  the  bright  mark  is 
almost  within  reach,  but  as  we  grow  older,  the  mark,  less 
bright,  recedes.  Those  who  fancy  that  they  have 
reached  the  mark  find  after  a  while  that  it  is  a  delusion. 
There  is  no  fame  but  that  is  followed  by  disgust;  no 
exhilaration  that  is  not  followed  by  weariness;  no  laugh 
ter  that  does  not  at  last  end  in  a  sigh.  But  there  is  a 
great  lesson  to  be  learned  from  all  this." 

"That  no  one  should  strive  to  cultivate  the  tree  of 
ambition?"  Len  asked. 

"Oh,  no;  but  that  no  one  should  become  intoxicated 
with  the  wine  of  ambition;  that  we  should  endeavor  to 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  215 

make  ourselves  comfortable;  in  other  words,  that  we 
should  first  accumulate  money,  with  which  there  is  no 
great  misfortune, — except  the  death  of  friends, — and 
without  which  there  is  no  great  success." 

"I  am  not  over-ambitious,"  Len  rejoined.  "I  hope 
to  be  comfortable  without  having  to  enter  the  lists  and 
swing  a  battle-ax  for  money.  I  look  forward  to  a 
modest  home,  a  happy  wife,  a  mind-feeding  library." 

"A  commendable  aim,  surely;  but  you  may  strive  for 
years  and  years  before  you  can  sit  down  in  such  a  home. 
You  may  be  old  and  have  rheumatism.  Your  eyes  may 
not  be  able  to  lift  food  to  the  mind." 

"Yes,  but  what  am  I  to  do?  How  can  I  get  this  home 
except  in  the  tread-mill  way?  In  fact,  I  prefer  to  get 
it  that  way.  I  abhor  financial  speculation.  I  do  not 
like  trade.  I  claim  no  superiority  over  those  who  buy 
and  sell,  but  I  confess  that  such  trade  is  distasteful  to 
me;  in  fact,  I  am  not  equal  to  the  demand  of  trade." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  colonel,  after  a  moment's  re 
flection,  "we  all  have  our  views.  I  like  to  hear  you 
express  yourself,  and  I  think  that  after  a  while  we'll 
understand  each  other.  My  object  in  thus  drawing  you 
out  is  to  impress  upon  your  mind  a  part  of  my  own 
philosophy.  A  philosophy,  unless  it  is  imparted  to 
some  one,  is  crippled.  What  I  mean  is,  that  to  enjoy  a 
principle  we  must  share  it  with  a  friend.  I  have  never, 
as  you  have  doubtless  observed,  attempted  to  conceal 
the  esteem  in  which  I  hold  you."  The  young  man,  who 
had  arisen  and  who  was  standing  with  his  hands  resting 
on  the  back  of  a  chair,  bowed  in  acknowledgment,  and 
the  colonel  continued:  "You  are  well  balanced,  Gan- 


216  LEN  GANSETT. 

sett,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  never  allow  any  tide  to 
take  you  off  your  feet." 

"I  don't  think  that  I  ever  have,  colonel." 

"No,  not  exactly;  but  I  could  not  help  but  notice  that 
you  were  almost  unhealthy  elated  over  the  reproduction 
of  your  sketches.  Now,  hold  on.  I  know  that  you  feel 
a  just  pride  in  your  work,  and,  moreover,  are  grateful 
to  see  that  large  journals  copy  it,  but  do  not  let  that 
pride  redound  to  your  disadvantage." 

"What  must  I  do, — stop  writing  sketches  and  confine 
myself  to  mere  local  mention?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!  You  misunderstand  me.  I  simply  do 
not  wish  you  to  centre  all  your  aims,  all  your  hopes,  in 
such  work.  There  is  something  better  awaiting  you." 

"What  is  that  something?"  Len  asked. 

The  colonel  arose,  took  a  turn  about  the  room,  ap 
proached  Len,  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  said: — 

"There  awaits  for  you,  my  boy,  the  means  with  which 
to  purchase  true  greatness, — contentment.  Do  not 
attempt  to  hurl  yourself  into  literary  work  now.  The 
lines  of  art  and  the  lines  of  bread  are  rarely  found  on 
the  same  page.  You  should  not  be  compelled  to  write 
for  money,  but,  having  money,  should  write  to  make 
your  readers  better.  There  are  some  instances  of  good 
'bread'  writing,  but  they  are  few.  Be  an  artist,  not  a 
laborer." 

"Colonel,  I  am  not  trying  to  hurl  myself  into  litera 
ture.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  do  not  look  beyond  my 
own  little  journal." 

"Well,  I  hope  we  have  both  been  instructed  by  our 
conversation.  I  told  you  the  other  day  that  I  had  im- 


LEN  GANSETT.  217 

portant  business  with  you,  but  in  reality  I  had  not.  I 
merely  wanted  to  talk  to  you.  There  are  times  when  I 
am  compelled  to  express  myself,  but  even  then  I  choose 
my  auditor.  Suppose  we  go  to  bed." 


218  LEN  GAN8ETT. 


XXIII. 

ANOTHER  summer  came  and  passed,  another  spring 
breathed  with  redolent  breath.  The  Hon.  Mangus 
Dockery,  having  lost  political  caste,  and  having  failed 
as  a  bookkeeper  for  a  plantation  supply-house,  began 
the  publication  of  another  paper, — the  "Eagle  of  Free 
dom."  He  established  his  office  in  a  weather-boarded 
shed,  with  a  "dirt  floor."  A  number  of  people  who  knew 
the  pinched  condition  of  Dockery's  finances  were  sur 
prised  when  the  prospectus  of  his  new  paper  appeared; 
but  they  need  not  have  been,  for  Dockery,  when  he  had 
not  money  enough  to  do  anything  else,  always  started 
a  paper. 

"Len,"  said  Dockery,  "our  interests  will  not  conflict, 
for  Dogwood  is  now  large  enough  to  support  two 
papers."  There  had  been  three  houses  biult  in  Dog 
wood  since  Dockery  edited  the  "Picket."  "Yes,"  con 
tinued  the  ex-statesman,  "there's  room  enough — " 

"At  the  top,"  Len  smilingly  suggested. 

"Yes,  Gansett,  at  the  top,  an  eminence  which  we  will 
both  occupy  in  peace  and  harmony.  We  can  help  each 
other  mentally  and  physically.  We  must  run  fearless 
papers,  Gansett.  The  ginger-cake  and  cider  business 
won't  pay.  Then  let  us  speak  out.  Ah,  my  dear  boy, 
somebody  will  find  his  jacket  warmed  before  long." 

"Are  you  going  to  warm  old  man  Mason's  jacket?" 
Len  asked. 

"Gansett,    that   man    is   beneath    my   notice.      You 


LEN  GANSETT.  219 

remember  once  how  I  restrained  myself  when  he  in 
sulted  you." 

"The  time  he  kicked  you,  eh?"  Len  suggested. 

'•'Let  me  see,  I  believe  he  did  say  something  about 
kicking  me;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  he  is  beneath  my 
notice.  My  first  number  is  not  as  well  printed  as  I 
could  wish,  but  I've  got  the  circulation.  I  had  my 
choice, — go  to  Congress  or  run  a  newspaper.  Then 
came  a  struggle.  I  knew  that  I  could  accomplish  much 
by  going  to  Congress,  and  I  carefully  considered  the 
subject;  but  then  my  love  for  printer's  ink  came  up 
within  my  breast,  and — well,  I  had  to  start  a  paper." 

One  evening,  while  Ned  Hobdy  was  pursuing  her  way 
homeward,  Dockery  overtook  her. 

"Why,  good-evening,  Miss  Hobdy!  You  seem  to  be 
in  a  hurry." 

"No,  I  am  not  in  very  much  of  a  hurry,  that  is,  no 
more  than  usual.  My  father  is  always  so  anxious  to  see 
me  that  I  am  always  anxious  to  get  home." 

"Quite  commendable,  I  assure  you;  quite  commend 
able.    How  is  the  old  gentleman's  health?" 
"Not  very  good." 

"Sorry  to  hear  it.  By  the  way,  they  tell  me  that  you 
have  become  quite  a  scholar." 

"They  have  overrated  me,"  she  replied. 

"Oh,  no;  they  simply  do  you  justice.  Are  you  fond  of 
the  business?" 

"Yes." 

"Quite  commendable,  I  assure  you.  Don't  walk  <\mte 
so  fast.  I  have  a  proposition  to  make." 


220  LEN  GANSETT. 

She  looked  at  him  quickly,  but  did  not  slacken  her 
pace. 

"You  have  learned  about  all  you  can  in  the  Ticket' 
office,"  said  Dockery. 

"We  never  learn  all  we  can,  no  matter  where  we  are 
located/'  she  replied. 

"Ah,  some  truth  in  that,  but  it  is  not  the  whole  truth. 
Our  surroundings  have  much  to  do  with  our  ability  to 
learn.  If  we  associate  with  scholars  our  minds  are  more 
apt  to  bear  scholarly  fruit.  Does  Gansett  pay  you  well?" 

"Better  than  I  deserve." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no;  quite  impossible;  but,  be  that  as  it 
may,  there  is  something  else  to  take  into  consideration. 
You  are  now  on  the  road  to  accomplishment,  and  I 
think  that  I  can  finish  the  work  which  Gansett  has  be 
gun.  In  short,  Miss  Hobdy,  I  offer  you  a  situation  in 
my  office." 

Ned  almost  screamed  with  laughter. 

"Oh,  I'm  in  earnest,  Miss  Hobdy." 

"I  have  no  desire  to  leave  the  Ticket'  office,  Mr. 
Dockery." 

"Not  for  greater  advantages?" 

Again  the  girl  laughed.  "What  advantages  can  you 
offer?"  she  asked.  "You  work  in  mud  when  the  weather 
is  wet,  and  in  dust  when  it  is  dry.  You  hint,  and  rather 
broadly,  too,  at  your  superior  education.  There  is  no 
more  comparison  between  you  and  Mr.  Gansett  than 
there  is  between  a  star  and  a  lightning-bug.  He  is  cul 
tivated  and  original;  you  are  superficial  and  a  plagiar 
ist;  and,  sir,  I  don't  thank  you — " 


LEN  GANSETT.  221 

"Oh,  now,  here,  Miss  Hobdy,  I  fear  that  Gansett  has 
prejudiced  you  against  me." 

"What  cause  could  he  have?  I  assure  you  that  he 
does  not  discuss  you,  at  least  in  my  presence." 

"Ah,  a  silence  begotten  of  envy,"  Dockery  replied. 

"Envy!"  the  girl  contemptuously  repeated.  "We 
never  envy  those  who  are  below  us.  Good-evening." 

"Wait  one  moment.  I  would  not  only  offer  you  a 
place  in  my  office;  I — listen,  please — I  would  give  you 
a  home.  I — won't  you  wait?  Well,  you  are  running 
away  from  good  fortune.  But  it  is  always  the  way  with 
those  who  are  lifted  above  their  rightful  station." 

Ned  stopped.  She  looked  furiously  at  Dockery  and 
exclaimed: — 

"You  are  an  unprincipled  coward!  I  will  tell  Mr. 
Gansett  what  you  have  said." 

"Oh,  hold  on,  Miss  Hobdy!  Please  wait  a  minute.  It 
was  only  a  joke,  I  assure  you.  Now  you  are  gone  with 
out  waiting  to  hear  an  explanation.  Never  saw  such  a 
neighborhood.  Nobody  can  take  a  joke." 

His  knees  smote  together.  He  hurried  homeward. 
He  saw  Len  coming,  but  he  turned  into  the  woods  to 
avoid  him. 

That  night  Len  went  over  to  Hobdy's  house.  The  old 
man,  whose  mind  was  full  of  the  "Vicar  of  Wakefield," 
was  delighted  to  see  him. 

"That  ole  preacher  is  the  cap'n,"  said  Hobdy.  "He 
tickled  me  mighty  nigh  to  death  when  he  made  them 
women  folks  go  back  inter  ther  house  an'  snatch  off  all 
that  finery.  Let's  see,  what's  ther  name  uv  ther  man 
that  writ  it?" 


222  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Goldsmith,"  Len  replied. 

"Yes,  Goldsmith;  but  he  hit  as  hard  as  a  blacksmith. 
Ned,  yer  mus'  read  that  book  over  ter  me  ernuther 
time.  I  ain't  quite  got  ther  hang  uv  all  ther  p'ints. 
Mr.  Gansett,  I've  been  ernuther  man  sense  Ned  got  so 
she  ken  read  like  er  preacher.  I  uster  look  at  books  and 
wonder  how  folks  could  hump  over  'em  all  day — didn't 
know  ther  wuz  so  much  fun  in  'em."  The  old  fellow 
laughed  until  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  Then  he 
swallowed  some  tobacco,  and  coughed  until  he  was 
almost  strangled. 

"I  had  company  part  of  the  way  home,"  Ned  re 
marked,  turning  to  Len. 

"Indeed;  but  that  is  not  strange.  Who  was  the  fort 
unate  person?" 

"Our  distinguished  rival,  Dockery." 

"I  thought  that  I  saw  him  in  the  road  some  distance 
ahead  of  me,  as  I  came  home,  but  upon  looking  up  the 
second  time  I  saw  that  he  had  disappeared." 

"His  conscience  must  have  driven  him  into  the 
woods." 

"How  so?"  Len  quickly  asked. 

Ned,  after  making  Len  promise  not  to  get  into 
trouble,  related  the  conversation  she  had  held  with 
Dockery.  The  old  man  looked  up  and  frowned.  Len 
quietly  remarked,  "To-morrow  I  will  tell  him  he  must 
be  more  careful  in  the  future." 

The  next  day,  shortly  after  Ned  arrived  at  the  office, 
Len  went  out.  Ned  looked  inquiringly  at  him  as  he 
passed  her.  She  then  went  to  the  door  and  said: — 

"Remember  your  promise." 


LEN  GANSETT.  223 

"I  will,"  he  replied. 

He  went  to  Dockery's  office.  The  ex-legislator  was 
standing  in  front  of  a  small  looking-glass,  tacked  against 
the  wall,  combing  his  hair. 

"Why,  how  are  you,  my  dear  boy?  Sit  down.  Say, 
the  last  issue  of  the  'Picket'  was  as  fine  a  paper  as  I 
ever  saw.  Did  Miss  Hobdy  tell  you  of  the  little  joke  I 
tried  to  play  on  her?  Fearful  that  she  might  forget  it, 
I  thought  that  I  would  hurry  to  your  office;  but,  by 
George!  I  forgot  it  myself." 

"Ah,  you  had  doubtless  started  to  my  office  when  you 
turned  into  the  woods,  yesterday  evening,  to  shorten  the 
distance." 

"I — I — did  I  turn  into  the  woods?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  Miss  Hobdy  has  told  me  what  you 
said  to  her, — told  me  how  you  cast  a  slur  upon  her 
former  condition." 

"It  was  all  a  joke." 

"A  gentlemanly  one,  I  must  say.    Put  on  your  coat." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Dockery  falteringly 
asked. 

"Don't  ask  another  question.  Put  on  your  coat  and 
come  with  me." 

Dockery  tremblingly  obeyed.  Just  before  they 
reached  the  "Picket"  office,  Dockery  said:  "Preacher 
Murray  has  just  gone  into  your  office.  He — " 

"Silence!" 

When  they  entered  the  office,  Len,  after  bowing  to 
the  preacher,  turned  to  Dockery  and  said: — 

"Get  down  on  your  knees,  there,  near  Miss  Hobdy's 
stool." 


224  LEX  GANSETT. 

"Oh,  dear  Gan— " 

"Get  down!" 

Dockery  obeyed.  "Misa  Hobdy,"  said  Len,  "don't 
look  at  him." 

Ned  turned  her  face  away. 

"Now/'  said  Len,  touching  Dockery  with  the  toe  of 
his  boot,  "apologize.  Tell  Miss  Hobdy  that  you  are  a 
brute,  a  liar,  a  plagiarist,  and,  withal,  a  coward.  Tell 
her  that  you  haven't  manliness  enough  to  appreciate  a 
lady." 

"Mr.  Gansett— " 

Len  kicked  him.    "Tell  her." 

"Miss  Hobdy,  I  am  a — a — liar — " 

"And  a  plagiarist;  go  on — " 

"A  plagiarist  and — " 

"Coward,"  said  Len. 

"Coward,"  repeated  Dockery. 

"Come,  hurry  up!  Tell  her  that  you  haven't  manli 
ness  enough  to  appreciate  a  lady." 

"Haven't  manliness  enough  to  appreciate  a  lady.  Now 
let  me  say  something — " 

"Not  another  word.    Get  out  of  this  house." 


LEN  GANSETT.  225 


XXIV. 

ABOUT  an  hour  after  Dockery  left  the  "Picket"  office 
Len  received  from  him  the  following  note: — 

MR.  GANSETT — In  the  language  of  the  ethereal  bard,  "In 
peace  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man  as  modest  stillness 
and  humility."  I  have  often  pondered  over  this  grand 
thought,  and  I  am  sure  that  it  has  kept  me  out  of  many 
difficulties.  It  was  this  thought,  my  dear  Gansett,  that  en 
abled  me  to  curb  my  wrath  a  few  minutes  ago.  Had  it 
not  been  for  this  thought  I  would  have  come  upon  you  like 
an  enraged  tiger.  To  you  I  will  now  confess  that  I  was 
wrong  in  speaking  to  Miss  Hobdy  as  I  did;  but,  my  dear 
sir,  wounded  love  weighs  not  its  words.  I  trust  that  you 
will  pardon  me,  but  I  had  hoped  that  Miss  Hobdy  would 
one  day  be  mine;  but  now,  sir,  I  magnanimously  relinquish 
all  claims  in  your  favor.  I  do  not  stop  to  ask  myself 
whether  or  not  you  would  do  as  much  for  me,  but  I  make 
this  sacrifice  in  obedience  to  the  promptings  of  an  unselfish 
nature.  I  will  endeavor  to  bear  my  loss  as  becomes  an 
American  citizen,  a  man  in  whom  a  flourishing  community 
has  placed  its  trust.  That  I  shall  pass  through  dark  hall 
ways,  and  sit  down  in  gloomy  chambers  there  can  be  no 
question,  but  with  the  flat-iron  of  determination  I  will 
smooth  the  wrinkles  from  my  brow.  I  hope,  sir,  that  you 
will  not  consider  our  affair  of  enough  importance  to  war 
rant  a  place  in  your  columns.  Believe  me,  sir,  your  obedi 
ent  servant, 

HON.  MANQUS  DOCKERY. 

"Ned,"  said  Len,  "read  this.  Eead  it  and  reflect  upon 
the  sublimity  of  human  sacrifice," 

Ned  read  the  note,  threw  it  down,  and  without  saying 
a  word  took  up  her  "stick"  and  resumed  her  work. 


226  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think?" 

"What  can  I  think?" 

"You  can  think  that  the  Hon.  Mangus  Dockery  is  a 
noble  man  or — " 

"A  fool,"  the  girl  suggested. 

"Have  you  no  balm  for  his  wounded  soul?" 

"No  balm." 

"Shall  I  answer  his  note?" 

"Do  as  you  like." 

"In  case  I  answer  it,"  continued  the  editor,  slyly 
winking  at  Collins,,  "what  must  I  say  with  regard  to 
you?" 

"Nothing." 

"Have  you  no  word  for  him?" 

"No." 

"Come,  be  generous." 

"Well,  shall  I  write  a  note  to  enclose  with  yours?" 

"Yes,"  Len  replied,  again  winking  at  Collins. 

"All  right,"  said  the  girl,  getting  off  her  stool  and 
seating  herself  at  a  desk.  After  a  short  season  of  writ 
ing  she  said: — 

"You  may  send  him  this." 

The  girl  looked  mischievously  at  Collins  and  smiled. 
Len  took  the  sheet  of  paper  and  read  as  follows: — 

"MY  DEAR  MR.  DOCKERY — Your  declaration  of  love  is  in 
deed  a  revelation  to  me.  I  have  always  admired  you, — yes, 
have  more  than  admired  you, — and  I  hope  that  at  an  early 
day  you  will  come  and  see  me." 

"The  deuce!"  Len  exclaimed.  "You  are  not  going  to 
send  this." 

Collins  roared.    "She  got  you  that  time,  cap'n,"  said 


LEN  GA.NSETT.  227 

he.  "Well,  we've  had  enough  foolishness.  If  we  want  to 
get  this  paper  up  we've  got  to  pull  out." 

That  evening,  as  Len  and  Ned  were  walking  along  the 
road,  swinging  a  basket  between  them,  the  young  man 
said: — 

"Ned,  have  I  not  kept  my  promise, — the  promise  that 
I  would  not  talk  of  love?" 

"Yes;  but  you  are  about  to  break  it  now/' 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Your  sly  introduction  of  the  subject." 

"Well,  suppose  I  break  it?" 

"You  will  weaken  my  confidence  in  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  do  that,  I  am  sure." 

"Then  don't  talk  of  love." 

"Why?    Is  the  subject  distasteful  to  you?" 

"No." 

"Then  why  do  you  object  to  my  speaking  of  it?" 

"Oh,  I  told  you  why.  You  know  that  I  love  you — 
worship  you.  Now  let  it  rest.  Give  me  my  basket,  I 
must  turn  off  here." 

"Just  wait  a  moment.  Ned,  you  have  never  cared 
anything  for  Dockery,  have  you?" 

"How  foolish  you  are!" 

"But  tell  me.  Understand  that  ardent  love  is  jealous 
of  a  shadow." 

"You  know  that  I  don't  like  that  vain,  shallow  man. 
Go  on  home,  Len;  you  are  unnatural  this  evening." 

"Well,  sweet  girl,  good-evening." 

When  Len  reached  home  he  found  Colonel  Bently 
and  Bob  Gansett  sitting  in  the  yard.  The  evening  was 
delightful.  Bull-bats  winged  their  whirling  flight,  and 


228  LEN  GANSETT. 

the  whippoorwills,  emerging  from  their  daytime  seclu 
sion,  had  begun  to  sound  the  notes  of  their  monotonous 
song.  The  chatter-jack  sang  in  the  oak-tree,  and  the 
droning  black  bug,  with  clumsy  bump,  struck  the 
clothes-line.  A  soft,  mellow  light  and  a  growing  shadow 
waltzed  over  the  fields,  and  down  the  lane  the  bell-cow 
came,  while  the  capering  calf  pressed  his  head  against 
the  bars  to  catch  the  appetizing  fragrance  of  his  moth 
er's  breath. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  the  colonel,  arising  and  extending 
his  hand,  "I  am  delighted  to  see  you.    Have  this  seat." 
"Oh,  no,"  said  Len;  "keep  your  seat.    I'll  get  another 
chair." 

"Yes,"  remarked  old  Bob,  "for  it  would  be  a  putty 
come-off  for  you  to  come  all  the  way  over  here  to  give 
up  your  cheer  to  a  youngster." 

"Ah,"  laughed  the  colonel;  "and  such  a  youngster, 
too!" 

Len  brought  a  chair  from  the  hallway  and  sat  down. 
The  colonel  turned  to  him  and  said: — 

"Len,  your  paper  improves  with  each  succeeding 
issue." 

"A  compliment,  surely,  colonel.  To  hear  you  say  it 
does  me  more  good  than  to  know  that  such  is  the  case, 
since  I  know  that  your  compliment  comes  from  the  kind 
feeling  which  you  bear  me." 

"Ah,  my  dear  boy,  you  can  indeed  take  a  truth  and 
make  it  a  compliment  to  him  who  utters  it." 

"To  utter  truth,  colonel,  is  compliment  enough  of 
itself." 


LEN  GANSETT.  229 

"Yes,"  said  old  man  Gansett,  "as  truth  has  become 
so  sca'ce." 

"I  don't  know,  grandpa,  but  that  the  supply  is  equal 
to  the  demand." 

"Journalism  induces  pleasant  satire,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Or  rather  an  utterance  of  the  actual,"  Len  replied. 

"It  seems  that  all  our  arrows  are  barbed  this  evening," 
said  the  colonel.  "I  have  always  known  that  Len  was 
incisive,  but  I  have  never  before  known  him  to  make 
such  free  use  of  his  blade." 

"My  blade  is  dull,  colonel,,  except  when  your  presence 
sharpens  it." 

"Ah,"  said  the  colonel,  "we  are  resolved  into  a  mutual 
admiration  society." 

Mrs.  Gansett  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "Before  you 
can  sharpen  any  blade,"  she  said,  "you'll  have  to  calk  up 
the  trough  of  the  grindstone.  The  sun  has  dried  up  the 
water  and  cracked  it." 

"I  reckon  we'll  get  along  all  right,"  said  the  old  man, 
laughing. 

"Now,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Bob?"  the  old 
lady  demanded.  "A  body  can't  say  a  word  without  you 
have  to  snicker.  You  act  like  you  was  possessed.  Make 
me  think  you  have  gone  daft.  Well,  come  on,  now, 
supper  is  ready.  We  haven't  got  anything  very  enticin', 
but  you're  welcome  to  what  we've  got.  Come,  colonel !" 

"Madam,"  replied  the  colonel,  arising  and  bowing  with 
a  mien  which  diplomatists  might  envy,  "I  ate  dinner 
just  before  leaving  home,  and  am  not  hungry,  yet  your 
invitation  almost  gives  me  an  appetite." 

"Much  obleeged,"  the  old  l»dy  replied,  with  a  slight 


230  LEN  GANSETT. 

inclination  of  her  venerable  head.  "Len  you  an'  gran'- 
pa  fetch  yo'  cheers." 

After  supper  the  colonel  approached  Len,  drew  him  to 
one  side,  and  said: — 

"My  dear  boy,  if  you  have  nothing  of  importance  on 
hand  to-night  I  wish  you  would  go  over  and  stay  all 
night  with  me." 

"Colonel,  I  am  afriad  that  I  cannot  go  to-night." 

"Why?    Anything  important?" 

"Well,  it  might  not  be  important  in  the  estimation  of 
any  one  else." 

"Come,  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"Well,  for  some  time  I  have  been  working  on  a  story 
in  which  I  have  become  so  much  interested  that  I  am 
now  anxious  to  finish  it." 

"A  high  flown  composition,  I  dare  say." 

"No,  sir;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  humble  in  conception 
and  lowly  in  treatment." 

"The  scene,  then,  I  suppose,  is  laid  in  a  charity  hos 
pital,"  the  colonel  smilingly  remarked. 

"No;  it  is  laid  in  this  neighborhood." 

"Ah,  that  is  a  stroke  of  genius." 

"Why  so?" 

"Because  the  man  of  genius  always  writes  near  home. 
The  foolish  and  aimless  romances  seeks  a  country  of 
which  his  probable  readers  are  not  familiar.  Then  he 
can  exercise  a  fancy  acquired  from  unhealthful  books 
instead  of  throwing  aside  the  unlikely,  and  writing  of  the 
true.  But,  say,  the  story  won't  suffer  if  you  go  and  stay 
with  me  to-night." 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  231 

"That  may  be,  but  I  am  afraid  that  you  would  if  I 

go." 

"I'll  risk  that.  I  must  tell  you  something.  You 
know  that  I  am  not  inclined  to  be  suspicious." 

"Yes." 

"Well,  but  I  have  begun  to  suspect  some  one  of  an 
intention  to  rob  me." 

"What!" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  don't  know  exactly  why,  but  I  believe 
that  Honeycut  has  designs  upon  my  house." 

"I  don't  know,"  Len  replied,  "but  that  he  has  designs 
upon  every  house  where  he  thinks  a  strict  watch  is  not 
kept." 

"I  hope  that  you  will  say  nothing  about  my  suspicions, 
for  they  may  prove  to  be  ill-founded." 

"How  long  have  you  suspected  Honeycut?" 

"I  have  never  placed  much  confidence  in  him,  but  I 
did  not  actually  suspect  him  until  recently." 

"Why  did  you  have  anything  to  do  with  him  in  the 
first  place?"  Len  asked. 

"He  came  to  my  house  one  morning  and  asked  if  I  had 
any  work  he -might  do.  He  declared  that  he  was  in  great 
need  of  a  few  dollars,  and  that  he  would  perform  any 
kind  of  work.  I  did  not  like  his  looks,  but  I  took  pity 
on  him.  He  did  his  work  well.  His  ignorance  of  social 
customs  led  me  to  believe  that  his  growing  familiarity 
was  not  intentional,  otherwise  I  would  have  forbidden 
his  coming  to  my  house  again." 

"Why  do  you  suspect  him  of  an  intention  to  rob  you?" 

"Well,  he  came  over  to  my  house  this  morning,  and 
with  that  freedom  which  every  one  exercises  on  my 


232  LEN  GANSETT. 

premises  he  wandered  about  unatteneded.  I  was  sit 
ting  in  the  library,  reading,  when  I  remembered  that  I 
had  left  my  favorite  pipe  in  another  room.  I  went  to 
get  it.  My  slippered  feet  made  no  noise.  Upon  shoving 
open  the  door,  which  was  ajar,  I  saw  Honeycut  attempt 
ing  to  unscrew  the  fastenings  of  the  window-shutters. 
I  addressed  him,  and,  much  confused,  he  stammered 
out  an  incoherent  reply.  He  concealed  his  screw-driver 
under  his  coat,  and,  after  making  a  few  commonplace 
remarks,  withdrew,  apparently  satisfied  that  I  had  not 
discovered  his  design.  I  am  not  afraid,  Len,  but  Fd 
like  to  have  you  stay  with  me  to-night/' 

"If  it  be  an  actual  accommodation  I'll  go  with  you." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear  boy." 

When  they  reached  Bently's  house  the  colonel  con 
ducted  Len  to  a  room,  pointed  to  the  window,  and 
said : — 

"There  is  his  work." 

"Yes,  the  catches  are  removed." 

"Now,  my  dear  Len,  if  nothing  comes  of  this,  promise 
me  that  you  will  not  mention  the  affair." 

"Of  course,  colonel." 

"You  promise,  then?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  see  why  you  should  desire  to  shield 
a  bad  man." 

"It  is  not  my  desire  to  shield  him,  Len." 

"Then  why  not  have  him  arrested?" 

"That  would  be  useless.  I  have  not  sufficient  evidence 
to  convict  him;  besides,  I  can  only  suspect  him  of  a 
design,  and  not  of  his  having  committed  a  crime.  If 


LEN  GANSETT.  233 

you  should  speak  of  it  now,  he  would  be  put  upon  his 
guard.  I  want  to  catch  him,  don't  you  see?" 

"You  are  right,  colonel." 

The  colonel  and  Len  talked  until  a  late  hour.  When 
the  young  man  went  to  the  room  which  had  been 
assigned  to  him,  he  extinguished  the  light,  opened  the 
window,  and  sat  down.  The  night  was  beautiful.  The 
sheep,  lying  on  the  green  pasture,  looked  like  white 
pillows  scattered  over  a  dark  bed. 

"There  is  no  use  in  my  remaining  in  this  room," 
the  young  man  mused.  "I  can't  sleep.  Believe  I'll  go 
down  and  sit  under  the  trees.  No,  I'd  better  not  dis 
turb  every  one  by  walking  through  the  house.  Let  me 
see,  I  can  get  out  on  the  roof  of  the  gallery  and  slide 
down  a  post." 

A  few  moments  later  Len  was  on  the  ground.  "Now, 
how  am  I  going  to  get  back?"  he  asked  himself.  "Well, 
I'll  have  to  arouse  the  colonel,  after  all." 

He  walked  a  short  distance  from  the  house  and  sat 
down  under  a  tree.  An  ill-boding  tree-toad  dismally 
croaked  above  him.  A  night-hawk  cried.  A  negro  on 
a  distant  plantation  blew  his  melancholy  quills.  Some 
one  climbed  over  the  fence.  Len's  heart  beat  faster. 
The  figure  slowly  and  cautiously  approached  the  tree 
under  which  the  young  man  was  sitting.  Len  rec 
ognized  Honeycut.  Honeycut  perceived  Len  and  stop 
ped. 

"That  you.  co'n'l?" 

"No,"  Len  replied. 

"Oh,  it's  Gansett." 


234  LEX  GANSETT. 

"Yes,  it  is  Gansett.  What  are  you  doing  here  this 
time  of  night?" 

"What're  you  doin'  here?" 

"I  don't  know  that  it  concerns  you." 

"Wall,  I  don't  know  that  my  bein'  here  consarns  you, 
nuther." 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  differently.  I  am  Colonel 
Bently's  guest,  and — " 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Honeycut,  sitting  down  on  the 
grass.  "Putty  night,  ain't  it?" 

"Most  too  light  for  your  business,  I  should  think." 

"Mebbe  so,  but  it'll  be  darker  when  the  moon  goes 
down." 

"What  you  lack  in  courage  you  make  up  in  insolence." 

"That's  it,  I  reckon.  Ef  yer  lose  on  yer  co'n  yer've 
got  ter  make  up  on  yer  hogs." 

"Yes,  but  I  know  of  one  hog  on  which  but  little  can 
be  made  up." 

A  window  was  thrown  up.  A  voice  demanded:  "Who 
is  that  down  there?" 

"Me  an'  Gansett,"  Honeycut  replied. 

The  colonel  came  down,  and,  addressing  Honeycut, 
asked: — 

"WTiat  are  you  doing  here  this  time  of  night?" 

"I  was  passin'  an'  wanted  a  drink  uv  water,  an'  come 
in  to  go  to  ther  well." 

"Get  your  water,  then,  and  go  on." 

"Yes,  sah,"  said  Honeycut,  arising.  "I  am  much 
obleeged  ter  yer,  Good-night,  gentlemen," 


LM  GANSETT.  235 


XXV. 

THE  young  men  of  Dogwood  were  much  excited  over 
the  arrival  of  a  young  woman,  Miss  Pauline  Chackerin, 
a  graduate  of  a  well-known  college.  She  came  to  teach 
school,  not  hecause  she  needed  the  money, — for  her 
parents,  of  course,  were  well  off, — but  because  she 
wanted  to  be  of  use  in  the  world.  Miss  Pauline  spoke 
with  a  cultivated  lisp.  She  dressed  becomingly,  and  well 
understood  the  art  of  arranging  her  hair  so  that  her 
high,  narrow  forehead  might  find  some  relief.  The 
young  men  who,  with  high-heeled  boots  and  ruffled 
shirt-bosoms,  visited  her,  declared  her  a  person  of  won 
derful  intelligence;  and  although  the  young  lady  could 
not  help  feeling  contempt  for  her  surroundings, — 
always  seeming  to  have  trouble  with  her  skirts  lest  they 
should  touch  something — yet  she  talked  freely  with  the 
humble  villagers,  generously  showing  that  she  was  not 
averse  to  assisting  in  an  amelioration  of  their  condition. 
Miss  Pauline  soon  became  acquainted  with  Len  Gan- 
sett;  indeed  she  went  to  the  "Picket"  office  and  intro 
duced  herself  to  him.  She  had  done  much  literary  work, 
had  been  brought  up  with  a  pen  in  her  hand,  and  could 
occasionally  write  short  stories  for  the  "Picket." 

She  had  written  for  the  "Waverly  Magazine,"  and 
although  the  editor  did  not  pay  her,  yet  he  gave  her 
great  encouragement.  She  would  rather  write  for  home 
publications,  for  she  wanted  to  see  the  immediate  im 
press  of  her  mind  upon  friends  with  whom  she  was  daily 


236  LEN  GANSETT. 

associated.  She  intended  to  make  a  special  feature  of 
composition,  and  to  aid  her  classes  she  would  read  to 
them  her  own  writings. 

Len  published  the  first  story  which  she  submitted. 
It  was  a  pedantic  composition,  but  was  not  wholly  with 
out  merit.  Her  visits  to  the  office  became  frequent.  She 
paid  but  little  attention  to  Ned,  and  in  speaking  to  her 
assumed  a  superiority  which  Ned,  when  the  authoress 
was  gone,  would  mimic,  to  the  great  delight  of  old 
Collins. 

One  day  when  Len  and  Collins  were  out  Miss  Pauline 
called  with  another  story. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Gansett?"  she  asked,  seating  herself 
and  throwing  her  parasol  upon  a  table.  "Oh,  dear,"  she 
continued,  without  giving  Ned  time  to  reply,  "how  this 
insalubriously  warm  weather  does  affect  me!  Did  you 
say  that  Mr.  Gansett  is  out?" 

"I  did  not  say  anything,"  Ned  replied;  "but  he  is  out." 

"Can  you  approximate  the  time  of  his  return,  Miss — 
What  is  your  name,  again?" 

"I  have  always  had  the  same  name,  and  consequently 
have  not  been  named  again.  Ned  Hobdy  is  my  name." 

"Ned,  did  you  say?" 

"Yes,"  Ned  replied,  reaching  after  a  capital  letter. 

"I  don't  think  it  is  a  pretty  name." 

"Neither  do  I." 

"Did  you  tell  me  when  Mr.  Gansett  would  be  likely 
to  return?" 

"No,  for  I  have  no  idea." 

"How  long  have  you  known  Mr.  Gansett?  Since  you 
were  a  school-girl,  I  suppose?" 


LEN  GANSETT.  237 

"I  am  nothing  but  a  school-girl  now.  This  is  my 
school." 

Miss  Pauline  frowned  slightly,  and  replied,  "Not  a 
very  complete  school,  I  imagine." 

"No,  it  is  not  perfect  in  all  its  branches,  yet  it  makes 
a  special  feature  of  composition.  I  learn  a  great  deal 
from  the  original  stories  which  I  set  up." 

Miss  Pauline  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  type-setter, 
but,  detecting  on  the  girl's  face  no  expression  of  sarcasm, 
remarked,  "Yes;  but  it  is  like  eating  the  fruit  which 
some  one  else  has  grown." 

"But  it  is  not  necessary  to  plant  the  tree  in  order  to 
enjoy  the  fruit." 

"Miss  Hobdy,"  said  the  authoress,  "it  is  a  pity  that 
you  had  not  been  sent  to  school  and  regularly  educated. 
You  might  have  become  really  bright." 

"Thank  you;  but,  as  I  was  not  regularly  educated,  I 
must  now  make  the  best  of  the  irregular  means  which 
are  within  my  reach." 

"Yes,  I  opine  so.  I  do  wish  Mr.  Gansett  would  come. 
I  have  another  story  for  him,"  taking  up  a  small  roll 
of  manuscript  which  she  had  been  affectionately  hold 
ing  on  her  lap.  "Perhaps  you  would  like  to  read  it." 

"JSTo,  I'll  wait  until  it  is  put  on  the  hook." 

"Oh,  no;  I  want  you  to  read  it  now.  I  want  to  point 
out  the  fine  points  to  you." 

Ned  got  off  her  stool,  took  the  manuscript,  spread  it 
upon  the  table,  and,  drawing  up  a  chair,  sat  down.  Be 
fore  beginning  to  read  she  said: — 

"Excuse  me,  but  you  should  not  roll  manuscript. 


238  LEX  GANSETT. 

See,  if  I  were  not  to  roll  it  first  one  way  and  then 
another  I  could  not  keep  it  on  my  case." 

"That  is  a  question  for  type-setters  to  discuss,  and  not 
of  concern  to  editors,"  the  teacher  replied. 

"Upon  the  contrary,"  rejoined  Ned,  "it  is  quite 
annoying  to  editors." 

"Well,  never  mind,  read  the  story." 

Ned  arranged  the  manuscript  and  hegan  reading. 
Miss  Pauline,  with  an  air  of  superiority,  settled  herself 
back,  and,  with  a  self-satisfied  smile,  closely  watched 
the  countenance  of  the  reader. 

"Look  here  a  moment,  said  Ned. 

"Well/-'  replied  Miss  Pauline,  leaning  forward.  "Have 
you  found  anything  wrong?" 

"Yes.  Listen  to  this:  'Douglas  was  very  hungry, 
but  he  had  nothing  to  eat  in  his  basket.' '' 

"Well,  what's  wrong  with  it?" 

"He  certainly  did  not  intend  to  eat  anything  in  his 
basket.  You  mean  that  Douglas  had  nothing  in  his 
basket  to  eat." 

"You  are  foolish!"  exclaimed  Miss  Pauline.  "One 
expression  is  just  as  good  as  the  other." 

"Yes,"  Ned  replied,  "I  think  that  one  is  even  better 
than  the  other.  Here's  something  else.  You  say  that 
Douglas  had  no  money  to  spend  in  his  pocket,  when  you 
doubtless  mean  that  he  had  no  money  in  his  pocket  to 
spend.  You  will  observe  that  the  most  direct  statements 
are  the  best." 

"Who  are  you,  to  give  such  advice!"  exclaimed  Miss 
Pauline. 

"And,  again,"  continued  Ned,  paying  no  attention  to 


LEN  GANSETT.  239 

the  fury  of  the  authoress,  "you  do  not  understand  punct 
uation.  If  you  had  put  a  semi-colon  there,  and  a 
comma  here,  you  would  not  have  begun  three  successive 
short  sentences  with  a  conjunction,  which,  you  must 
admit,  does  not  sound  well,  as  each  sentence  is  declara 
tive  and  leaves  nothing  for  the  following  sentence  to 
take  up,  thereby  dispensing  with  the  connecting  link  of 
'and.'  I  do  not  profess  to  be  a  grammarian,  but  I  am 
something  of  a  student,  and — " 

"Student!"  Miss  Pauline  contemptuously  repeated. 
"You  don't  know  what  a  student  is.  Give  me  that  story. 
I  would  leave  it  here,  but  I  am  afriad  that  Mr.  Gansett 
would  never  see  it.  I  know  that  he  will  print  it,  regard 
less  of  your  criticism.  You  a  student!"  continued  Miss 
Pauline,  punching  the  table  with  the  end  of  her  parasol; 
"why,  you  don't  know  anything — have  never  seen  any 
thing.  You  presume  to  critize  me!  I  will  tell  Mr.  Gan 
sett  to  teach  you  better  manners.  I  was  graduated  at 
Wilson's  seminary,  I  will  have  you  understand, — a  place 
where — " 

"Politeness  is  ommitted,"  Ned  suggested. 

"No,  miss;  a  place  where  politeness  is  taught." 

"You  probably  failed  to  take  the  entire  course." 

"Oh,  I  could  choke  you!" 

"No,  I  don't  think  you  could.  I  was  graduated  in  the 
woods,  and  my  arms  are  very  strong.  Have  you  ever 
chopped  any  wood,  Miss  Chackerin?  Excellent  exer 
cise!" 

"You  are  a  most  despisable  wretch,  and  I'll  have  Mr. 
Gansett  discharge  you, — that's  what  I'll  do.  Oh,  you 
hateful  thing!" 


240  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

"Don't  be  excited.    Sit  down  and  correct  your  story." 

"I'd  like  to  correct  you,  you  hateful  wretch!" 

"Look  here,  your  abuse  has  gone  about  far  enough. 
You  came  in  here  expecting  to  astonish  me  with  your 
silly  stuff,  and  when,  after  you  defied  my  criticism,  I 
criticised  your  story,  you  flew  into  a  passion.  You 
attempted  to  pose  here  as  a  superior  being",  and  it  seems 
that  your  strongest  effort  has  been  made  to  completely 
overawe  and  crush  me.  I  have  never  sought  to  harm 
you,  have  never  spoken  of  you  but  with  respect,  while 
you  have  taken  every  possible  occasion  to  speak  lightly 
of  me.  I  think  that  I  know  the  reason,  but  you  need 
not  put  yourself  to  extraordinary  trouble.  Mr.  Gansett 
and  I  are  old  friends." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Miss  Pauline  almost  screamed. 

"Oh,  if  you  do  not  understand,  reflect,  and  doubtless 
your  own  mind  will  suggest  a  solution." 

Miss  Pauline  gathered  up  her  skirts  and  rushed  from 
the  house.  A  few  minutes  afterward,  Ned,  looking 
through  the  window,  saw  Len  and  the  school-teacher 
Avalking  slowly  down  the  road.  Collins  entered  the 
office. 

"Well,  pulling  away,  are  you,  Miss  Hobdy?  Why, 
what  makes  you  so  nervous?" 

"Yes,  I  am  pulling  away;  but  I  don't  know  that  I 
am  nervous." 

"Saw  the  teacher  just  now,"  said  Collins,  as  he  took 
up  his  composing-stick,  "and  I  was  afraid  that  she  had 
come  around  to  leave  us  some  more  slush.  Did  she?" 

"She  brought  a  story,  but  took  it  away  with  her 
again." 


LEN  GANSETT.  241 

"How  so?" 

"Because  I  criticised  it,  and  she  got  mad  and  took  it 
away." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Collins,  tapping  the  bar  of  his 
"case"  with  an  "em  quad." 

"She  considered  it  very  impudent  of  me,  declaring 
that  she  was  a  graduate,  and  that  I  had  never  seen  any 
thing." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  all,  but  I  think  that  she  left 
with  a  pretty  good  idea  of  my  opinion  of  her.  Oh,  if  I 
had  met  her  two  years  ago,  when  I  could  scarcely  read, 
and  she  had  spoken  to  me  as  she  did  to-day,  I  would 
have  rumpled  her  hair!  Two  years  ago — less  than  two 
years  ago — just  think  of  it!" 

"A  great  change,"  said  Collins.  "I  have  worked  in 
printing-offices  nearly  all  my  life,  but  I  never  saw  any 
one  learn  so  rapidly  as  you  have." 

"A  wild  vine,  when  it  is  taken  from  the  woods  and 
planted  in  the  yard,  where  it  is  watered  and  cultivated, 
grows  very  fast;  faster  than  if  it  had  first  come  up  in  the 
yard." 

Collins  looked  at  the  girl,  slowly  shook  his  head,  and 
muttered,  "You  git  away  with  me,  blamed  if  you  don't!" 

"What  did  you  say?"  Ned  asked. 

"Nothing.  Was  trying  to  think  of  a  quotation  I  once 
heard.  Here's  the  boss.  Come  in,  me  noble  duck!" 

Len  sat  down  and  remained  some  time  without  say 
ing  anything.  Ned  glanced  at  him  as  if  she  would  read 
his  thoughts. 

"Miss  Pauline  tells  me  that  she  has  another  one  of 


242  LEN  GANSETT. 

her  excellent  stories  for  us/'  said  the  editor.  "Her  home 
paper  copied  the  first  one." 

"Her  father  took  it  around  and  had  it  put  in,  doubt 
less/'  Ned  replied. 

"Oh,  I  think  not,"  Len  rejoined.  "It  possessed  quite 
sufficient  merit  to  warrant  its  reproduction.  She  has 
promised  to  give  us  a  picture  of  herself  to  hang  in  the 
office.  Well,  it  is  about  time  to  stop  work.  I  haven't 
felt  disposed  to  do  anything  to-day.  Ned,  suppose  we 

go." 

"I  am  not  ready  to  go  yet/' 

"Well,  I  must  proceed/' 

Ned  followed  him  with  her  eyes,  and  when  he  was 
out  of  sight  she  took  down  her  basket  and  started  home 
ward.  When  she  reached  home  she  dropped  the  basket 
on  the  HOOT  and  threw  herself  upon  a  bed. 

"Ned,  air  yer  sick?"  her  father  asked. 

"No,  sir/' 

"What's  the  matter  with  yer?" 

"Tired;  that's  all." 

The  old  man  lighted  a  lamp  and  placed  it  on  a  table 
near  the  bed.  As  he  did  so,  he  caught  sight  of  her  face, 
which  she  attempted  to  conceal  with  her  arms. 

"W'y,  gal,  yer  ain't  cryin'?  Tell  yer  old  dad;  has  any 
thing  gone  wrong?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Wall,  I  never  seed  yer  carry  on  this  er  way  befo'. 
Ain't  yer  goin'  ter  eat-  no  supper?  I  shot  er  lot  er 
blackbirds  down  in  ther  fiel'  an'  have  stewed  'em  finer'n 
silk." 

"I  don't  want  any." 


LEN  GANSETT.  243 

The  old  man  mutteringly  turned  away.  "Ned,"  he 
exclaimed,  "here's  Mr.  Gansett!  W'y,  come  in!  Thar 
'peers  ter  be  suthin'  ther  matter  with  Ned  this  evenin', 
Mr.  Gansett." 

"No,  there  isn't,"  Ned  replied,  quickly  arising. 
"Good-  evening,  Len." 

"How  are  you,  little  girl?  Thought  I'd  come  over  and 
spend  the  evening  with  you.  Am  I  welcome?" 

"You  know  you  are,"  she  replied,  putting  hack  her 
beautiful  hair. 

"It  is  very  warm  in  here,  Ned;  suppose  we  go  out  and 
sit  on  a  log." 

They  went  to  the  log  on  which  Len  had  so  often  seen 
the  girl  sit,  listlessly  gazing  at  that  nothing  from  which 
we  draw  our  most  tranquil  thoughts. 

"Len,  I  told  you  that  I  would  let  you  know  when  to 
talk  of  love." 

"Yes." 

"Well," — nestling  closer  to  him, — "you  may — may 
talk  of  it  now." 

Without  replying  he  put  his  arms  around  her  beauti 
ful  shoulders  and  pressed  her  head  against  him.  Her 
glorious  hair  broke  loose  from  its  fastenings  and  veiled 
his  bosom. 

"Little  angel,"  he  said,  "don't  you  know  that  I  wor 
ship  you?" 

"I  know,"  she  breathed,  "that  I  hope  so.  I  know  that 
I  have  prayed  for  your  love.  0  Len,  you  don't  know 
how  my  heart  has  ached  this  day!  I  was  jealous;  I  know 
it,  and  acknowledge  it.  That  woman — oh,  I  cannot  help 
but  dislike  her — " 


244  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Don't  mention  her,  darling.  She  told  me  what  you 
said  to  her,  and  I  told  her  that  I  did  not  want  any  more 
of  her  stories." 

"But,  Len,  why  did  you  appear  so  indifferent  to  me 
when  you  came  into  the  office?" 

"Because  I  wanted  to  sit  where  we  are  now  sitting; 
because,  angel,  I  wanted  you  to  tell  me  that  I  might  talk 
of  love." 

"You  wanted  to  make  me  jealous?" 

"Yes." 

"But,"  she  said,  as  she  put  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  kissed  him,  "you  must  not  do  so  any  more.  My 
heart  is  very  tender,  Len.  It  is  very  warm,  dear,  and  a 
draft  of  cold  air  chills  it." 

"Well,  darling,  you  shall  not  be  exposed  to  the  draft 
again." 

"Ho,  Gansett!"  old  man  Hobdy  called,  "I've  got  the 
best  blackbird  stew  yer  ever  seed.  Ef  yer  an'  Ned  air 
through  with  yer  'portant  bus'ness  yer'd  better  come  an' 
git  some.  Wy,"  he  added,  as  he  advanced  and  looked 
at  Ned,  "I  never  seed  a  gal  improve  so.  Jes'  now  she 
wuz  ailin'." 

"My  soul  was  ailing,"  the  girl  replied,  "but  the  soul's 
physician  has  come." 

"Then  good-by  ter  the  blackbirds,"  replied  the  old 
man.  "No  foolishness  now.  Come  on!" 


LEN  GANSETT.  245 


XXVI. 

"LEN,"  said  Ned,  as  she  and  the  editor  were  walking 
toward  the  office  the  morning  after  the  reconciliation, 
"you  must  promise  me  something." 

"What  another  promise?" 

"Yes." . 

"Will  it  be  hard  to  keep?" 

"Not  so  hard  as  the  first  one." 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"You  must  promise  me  that  after  we  are  married  I 
may  continue  to  work  in  the  office." 

"That  won't  look  very  well,  little  girl." 

"Why?" 

"It  might  create  the  impression  that  I  demanded  your 
services;  in  fact,,"  he  miscievously  added,  "people  might 
think  that  I  owe  you,  and  married  you  to  discharge  the 
debt." 

"Nonsense!  you  know  they  won't.  When  they  notice 
how  much  better  clothes  I  and  my  father  wear,  and  how 
much  better  everything  looks  around  our  house,  they 
must  know  that  my  wages  are  paid  regularly.  You 
haven't  promised  me,"  she  added,  taking  his  hand. 

"You  may  go  to  the  office  with  me,  but  you  need  not 
work.  You  may  help  me  edit  the  paper." 

"May  I?"  she  joyously  exclaimed. 

"Yes." 

"You  are  joking." 

"No,  I  am  in  earnest." 


246  LEN  GANSETT. 

"And  you  will  let  me  write  stories?" 

"Yes,  you  may  write  as  your  inclinations  suggest." 

"That  will  be  just  splendid!"  she  happily  exclaimed, 
seizing  his  arm  in  an  embrace.  "I  believe  I  can  write  a 
story  about  the  humble  people  I  know.  I  can  imagine 
all  sorts  of  situations,  and  I  know  that  I  can  write  them 
down  as  I  see  them/' 

As  they  neared  the  office,  Ned,  looking  up,  said, 
"Yonder  comes  Mr.  Dockery.  Does  he  speak  to  you 
when  he  meets  you?" 

"Oh,  yes;  the  little  apology  does  not  seem  to  have 
interfered  with  our  social  relations." 

"Mr.  Gansett,"  said  the  editor  of  the  "Eagle  of  Free 
dom,"  "I  desire  to  communicate  with  you  a  few 
moments,  if  Miss  Hobdy  has  no  objections." 

"I  have  no  objections,"  Ned  replied. 

Len  stopped.    Ned  walked  on  toward  the  office. 

"Let  us  sit  down  here,"  said  Dockery,  pointing  to  a 
grass-covered  bank.  They  sat  down,  and  Dockery,  bit 
ting  off  a  chew  of  tobacco  from  a  thick  plug  covered  with 
tin  spangles,  said: — 

"Len, -we  have  always  advised  with  each  other,  and  I 
do  not  feel  disposed  to  take  an  important  step  without 
consulting  you.  I  have  made  it  a  rule  to  act  cautiously 
in  serious  matters,  to  which  course  I  can  attribute  much 
of  my  success.  When  I  was  a  boy  I  decided  that  many  of 
our  evils  and  mishaps  come  from  rashness.  Now,  sir," 
placing  one  hand  on  Len's  knee,  "what  I  am  going  to 
say  to  you  must  go  no  further.  I  am,  I  gladly  say, 
aware  that  with  you  a  secret  is  sacred.  I  am  in  love. 
Hold  on,  now!  I  am  not  in  love  with  Miss  Hobdy.  She 


LEN  GANSETT.  247 

is  an  excellent  lady,  possessing  many  noble  qualities, 
but  I'm  not  in  love  with  her." 

"Who  is  the  fortunate  woman?"  Len  asked. 

"The  accomplished  Miss  Chackerin.  My  dear  Gansett, 
my  position  has  thrown  me  in  contact  with  many  estim 
able  ladies;  but,  sir,  I  have  never  seen  one  who  so 
strongly  appeals  to  me  as  Miss  Chackerin.  I  have  met 
her  several  times,  and  each  time  I  have  become  more 
attached  to  her.  She  is  a  writer  of  marked  ability, — I'll 
publish  one  of  her  stories  next  week, — and  I  believe  that 
she  can  soon  learn  to  set  type.  Now,  what  do  you 
advise?" 

"Why,  if  you  love  her  and  she  loves  you,  marry  her." 

"Sensible  advice,  Gansett;  the  very  cream  of  judg 
ment.  Love  her,  my  dear  boy;  I  adore  her!  I  admit 
that  she  is  not  beautiful,  but  beauty  is  a  delusion.  In 
selecting  a  life  partner  we  must  look  more  to  character 
and  disposition  than  to  beauty." 

"Have  you  spoken  to  her  on  the  subject?" 

"Only  in  a  vague  way.  I  complimented  her  work,  and 
hinted  that  my  life  had  become  much  brighter  since 
she  had  come  to  Dogwood.  She  smiled;  by  George!  sir, 
I  wish  you  could  have  seen  that  smile.  Never  saw  such 
a  smile  in  my  life.  I  can  never  forget  it.  I  cannot  en 
dure  the  suspense  much  longer,  and  I  shall  take  an  early 
opportunity  of  telling  her  of  my  love  and  imploring  her, 
from  her  throne  of  peerless  worth,  to  decide  my  fate. 
Please  do  not  mention  what  I  have  told  you,  Gansett, 
for  you  are  the  only  man  who  possesses  my  confidence." 

When  Len  entered  the  office  Collins  said,  "Had  a  con 
versation  with  the  Hon.  Mangus,  eh?" 


248  LEN 

"Yes." 

"He  gave  me  about  an  hour  and  a  half  of  his  valuable 
time  this  morning;  took  me  into  his  confidence,  called 
me  his  dear  friend,  and  wanted  me  to  advise  him." 

"What  did  you  tell  him?"  Len  asked. 

"Told  him  to  marry  her.  He  said  that  he  could  not 
stand  the  suspense  much  longer,  and  said  something 
about  her  throne  of  peerless  worth.  By  George,  here 
she  comes!"  Collins  exclaimed.  Miss  Pauline  Chackerin 
entered.  Ned  turned  and  gave  her  an  inquiring  glance. 
After  bowing  to  Len  and  Collins,  the  school-teacher  ad 
dressed  Ned.  "Miss  Hobdy,"  said  she,  "I  have  come  to 
apologize  to  you  for  my  ruder  ess.  I  have  ever  been 
restive  under  criticism,  and  I  know  that  I  should  have 
more  sense,  but  won't  you  please  forgive  me?" 

"We  were  both  to  blame,"  Ned  replied,  extending  her 
hand,  and  then,  noticing  the  type-dust  upon  her  fingers, 
withdrawing  it. 

"Never  mind  the  smut,"  said  Miss  Pauline.  "The 
soil  which  honest  labor  leaves  upon  our  hands  is  an 
honorable  mark.  I  have  no  desire,  Miss  Hobdy,  to 
antogonize  you;  on  the  contrary,  I  think  that  we  should 
be  on  the  best  of  terms.  What  are  you  writing  now, 
Mr.  Gansett?  Some  rascally  joke,  I  warrant  you. 
Heigho,  I  am  getting  tired  of  this  country!  The 
weather  is  so  warm,  and  I  freckle  so  easily,  too.  Oh,  no," 
she  added,  when  she  had  been  three  times  invited  to  sit 
down,  "I  haven't  time  to  stay  more  than  a  minute. 
Thought  that  I  would  come  and  ask  Miss  Hobdy's  par 
don.  Mercy,  how  I  do  run  on!  You  must  be  quite  a 
hand  at  the  business,"  addressing  Collins. 


LEN  GANSETT.  249 

"Yes'um." 

"Did  you  ever  set  up  the  types  for  books?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  set  up  two-thirds  of  the  Sunday-school 
books  you  see  throughout  the  country." 

"Indeed!  Now  tell  me,  who  writes  the  most  of  such 
books?" 

"Many  of  them  are  written  by  the  rattiest  old  bums 
— I  mean  drunkards — who  wants  to  raise  a  stake.  I 
know  a  fellow  who  writes  dime  novels  half  the  week,  and 
Sunday-school  books  the  other  half." 

"You  don't  tell  me." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do.  Did  you  ever  see  a  book,  with 
imitation  of  variegated  marble  covering,  entitled,  'Why 
Sweet  Willie  laid  down  His  Life'?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Well,  that  was  written  by  a  lunch  rounder,  named 
Jones." 

"Yes,  lunch  rounder  while  in  town,  and  a  handout 
advocate  while  in  the  country." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  but  I  must  say  that  I 
do  not  believe  you.  Well,  I  must  go.  I  gave  the  chil 
dren  a  long  recess  in  order  to  come  up  here;  but,  good 
ness," — looking  at  her  watch, — "it  is  time  to  take  in. 
Good-by." 

Old  Collins  groaned  when  the  school-teacher  had  gone. 
"A  small  dose  of  that  fading  damsel  goes  a  long  ways," 
said  he. 

"You  should  not  speak  so  of  the  young  lady,"  Len 
replied. 

"Probably  not,  but  it's  true  all  the  same.  She  makes 
me  very  tired." 


250  LEX  GAN8ETT. 

"I  must  admit  that  she  is  not  very  refreshing.  Her 
father  owned  too  many  negroes  before  the  war,"  said 
Len. 

"Yes,  and  especially  as  she  has  an  Indiana  accent," 
Collins  suggested. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Len.  "The  daughter  of  an  ex- 
slave  owner  may  say  'I  reckon/  and  in  a  moment  of  for- 
getfulness  may  say  'dun  gone/  and  even  'gwine;'  but 
she  does  not  say  'noospaper/  and  'crick'  for  creek." 

Collins  shook  his  "case"  with  a  loud  rattle,  and 
groaned;  and  then,  with  the  printer's  characteristic  cus 
tom  when  speaking  of  the  proprietor  of  a  paper,  looked 
at  Ned,  and  remarked: — 

"The  old  man  sizes  her  up  about  right." 

Shortly  after  Miss  Pauline  left  the  "Picket"  office 
she  was  overtaken  by  Mr.  Dockery. 

"Ah,  Miss  Pauline,  you  are  looking  fresh  this  morn 
ing.  Let  me  accompany  you  as  far  as  the  school-house." 

"Thank  you." 

"Not  at  all.  By  the  way,  I  am  much  pleased  with 
your  story." 

"Then  you  accept  it?" 

"By  all  means.  You  may  not  like  the  way  I  shall 
bring  it  out,  for  it  will  appear  in  three  different  sizes  of 
type." 

"Haven't  you  enough  type  of  one  size?" 

"Oh,  yes;  but — but  different  sizes  give  diversity  to  the 
appearance  of  a  story.  I  had  a  story  in  'Harper's  Maga 
zine/  some  time  ago,  and  by  special  request  the  editor — 
who  is  a  friend  of  mine — had  it  set  in  three  sizes  of  type. 
He  rather  liked  the  idea." 


LEN  GANSETT.  251 

"Of  course  I  do  not  know  much  of  such  matters," 
Miss  Pauline  said.  "I  can  only  judge  of  literary,  and  not 
of  mechanical,  excellence/' 

"I  should  think,  Miss  Pauline,  that  you  would  devote 
your  life  to  literature." 

"Nothing  would  make  me  so  happy." 

"Ah,  I  knew  it.  I  told  Gansett  the  other  day  that  I 
wished  that  I  was  able  to  give  you  regular  employment 
on  my  paper."  Dockery  glanced  at  the  young  lady's 
watch-chain.  "I  told  him  that  if  we  were  associated  to 
gether  that  not  only  the  State  of  Arkansas,  but  the 
entire  country  would  soon  hear  of  the  'Eagle  of  Free 
dom.'  Don't  walk  so  rapidly,  Miss  Pauline." 

"I  haven't  the  time  to  discuss  the  matter  now,  Mr. 
Dockery." 

"Oh,  it  won't  take  us  long." 

"Why  not  call  on  me  this  evening?" 

"Yes,  I  will.  Oh,  I  think  that  we  can  come  to  some 
terms." 

"I  hope  so." 

"Well,  good-by  for  the  present." 

That  evening  Dockery  called  on  Miss  Pauline.  The 
weather  was  extremely  warm,  and  at  Dockery's  sugges 
tion  they  sat  on  the  gallery.  Braley  passed,  carrying  a 
"middlin'  uv  meat."  Sheet  lightning  flashed  in  the 
western  sky.  A  brindle  cow  with  deformed  hip-bones 
stood  in  a  patch  of  dog  fennel,  lowing  mournfully.  It 
was  a  propitious  time  for  love-making,  and  Dockery, 
upon  whom  no  feature  of  sentimental  environment  was 
lost,  turned  from  a  contemplation  of  the  cow  and  re 
marked: — 


252  LEN  OANSETT. 

"All  nature  seems  to  sing  a  song  of  love." 

"Don't  yon  think  that  it  would  be  better  for  the 
nature  which  we  find  in  this  community  to  sing  a  song 
of  sixpence?" 

"Yes/'  Dockery  laughingly  replied,  "a  song  of  six 
pence,  bottle  full  of  rye;  especially  the  rye,  as  this  is  a 
prohibition  town." 

"You  are  so  witty,  Mr.  Dockery." 

Dockery  nodded  his  head  in  recognition  of  the  com 
pliment,  and  replied:  "Without  wit,  a  man  can  do  but 
little  in  the  newspaper  business;  and,"  he  added,  "I 
found  that  wit  was  an  appreciative  quality  in  the  legis 
lature.  After  many  opponents  came  to  know  me, 
neither  of  them,  fearing  a  stinging  repartee,  would  dare 
to  lift  his  voice  against  me." 

"You  like  politics,  then?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  like  the  low-born  workings  of 
politics,  but  I  confess  that  I  like  public  life.  I  am  at 
my  best  when  under  fire.  I  am  naturally  a  man  of 
courage." 

"Such  is  my  estimate  of  you,  Mr.  Dockery." 

Again  the  editor  nodded.  Miss  Pauline  continued: 
"There  is  nothing  I  admire  so  much  as  courage." 

"Except  literature,"  Dockery  suggested. 

"Yes,  I  must  except  literature.  Literature  is  my 
heart,  my  life's  blood.  My  father  is  a  literary  man.  Be 
fore  the  war,  when  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  manage 
his  estates,  he  wrote  a  great  deal  for  publication." 

"How  is  the  old  gentlman's  health?" 

"Very  fair,  considering  his  age." 

"Has  he  sold  much  of  his  land?" 


LEN  OANSETT.  253 

"Not  a  great  deal." 

"Nearly  all  his  children  living  at  home,  I  suppose?" 

"I  am  the  only  child  living." 

"How  long  do  you  expect  to  remain  here?" 

"Oh,  so  long  as  it  suits  my  fancy,  or  whim,  as  father 
would  say." 

"Do  the  trustees  of  the  school  pay  you  promptly?" 

"I  have  never  asked  them  for  money.  Yes,  quite 
promptly." 

"You  remember  that  this  morning  I  spoke  to  you 
with  regard  to  my  paper?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  it  is  growing  every  day." 

"I  am,  indeed,  glad  to  hear  it." 

"Miss  Pauline,  shall  I  be  candid  with  you?" 

"By  all  means,  Mr.  Dockery." 

"Well — have  you  some  water  handy?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

She  brought  a  dipper  of  .water.  Dockery  took  a 
swallow  and  returned  the  dipper.  When  she  had 
resumed  her  seat,  Dockery  said: — 

"I  am  a  very  candid  man." 

"I  admire  candor,"  she  remarked. 

"When  I  was  in  the  legislature,"  the  editor  continued, 
"my  opponents  all  gave  me  the  credit  of  being  candid." 

"It  was  generous  of  them." 

"They  could  not  help  it." 

"Indeed." 

"Yes.    So  you  want  me  to  be  candid  with  you?" 

"Certainly." 

"Well — get  some  more  water — never  mind,  I've  just 


254  LEN  GANSETT. 

had  a  drink,  thank  you,"  he  added,  as  though  declining 
an  invitation.  "What  I  was  going  to  say  is  this:  I  have 
never  met  a  woman  who  so  much  impressed  me  as  you 
have.  In  fact,  Miss  Pauline,  I  love  you,  and  want  you 
to  be  my  wife.  What  do  you  say?" 

"0  Mr.  Dockery,  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  Your 
question  comes  so  unexpectedly.  I  confess  that  I  like 
you  very  much." 

He  reached  over,  took  her  hand,  held  it  a  moment  and 
released  it.  "My  business  prospects  are  good,"  said  he, 
"and,  as  I  said  before,  we  can  make  my — our  paper  a 
phenomenal  success." 

"Yes,  I  believe  we  could." 

"And  we  must." 

"You  must    give  me  time  to  think  about  it." 

"How  long?" 

"A  week." 

"Well,  it  shall  be  as  you  say.  As  I  have  a  great  deal 
of  writing  to  do  I  must  go." 

She  followed  him  to  the  gate.  The  brindle  cow 
looked  at  them  and  lowed.  When  Dockery  had  gone, 
Miss  Pauline  hurried  to  her  room  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
her  father.  The  following  is  an  extract  from  the  let 
ter: — 

"Yes,  I  am  to  be  married,  and  it  is  high  time,  as  I 
am  now  thirty-three  years  old.  The  man,  Mr.  Dockery, 
is  not  handsome,  but  he  has  good  prospects,  and  is  an 
editor.  This  will  give  me  a  chance  to  write,  and  you 
know  I  have  set  my  soul  on  it.  I  send  you  five  dollars, 
which  is  all  the  money  I  can  spare.  Goodness  knows 
our  old  house  is  bad  enough,  but  if  we  can't  afford  to 


LEN  GANSETT.  255 

pay  the  rent  you'd  better  get  a  cheaper  house.  I  will 
write  you  again  soon/' 

"Beckon  that's  settled,"  Dockery  mused  as  he  walked 
along  the  dusty  road.  "I  guess  she  loves  me.  She  is 
not  so  bad-looking,  and^that  watch  and  chain  sets  her  off. 
Guess  I'll  wear  it  after  a  while.  Women  don't  need 
watches.  I  think  that  after  we  are  married  I'll  give  up 
the  newspaper  business.  If  her  father  is  the  right  sort 
of  a  man  he  won't  mind  taking  me  in  with  him.  Hello, 
that  you,  Honey  cut?" 

"Whut's  left  uv  me,"  Honeycut  replied. 

"Which  way?" 

"Jest  knockin'  'round.  Thought  I'd  call  on  Gansett, 
as  I  ain't  seed  him  in  a  good  while,  but  when  I  got  ter 
his  office  it  was  shut  up." 

"Got  business  with  him?" 

"Yes.    I  hear  he's  goin'  ter  git  married." 

"I  understand  so." 

"Wall,  I've  got  a  leetle  suthin'  ter  say  erbout  it.  Ther 
ole  man  promised  that  gal  ter  me  er  long  time  ergo,  an' 
I  ain't  goin'  ter  gin  er  up  so  easy." 

"I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  in  your  place." 

"Don't  'low  ter,  let  me  tell  yer.  Me  an'  Gansett  ain't 
got  much  love  fur  each  other." 

"I  don't  think  that  Gansett  and  anybody  else  have 
very  much  love  for  each  other." 

"Me  nuther;  but  ef  he  thinks  that  he  ken  work  me 
he'll  find  that  he's  got  the  wrong  sow  by  the  year.  I've 
got  jest  ernuff  licker  in  me  now  not  ter  give  a  damn  fur 
nobody,  an'  it  won't  be  pie  fur  him  ef  he  fools  with  me. 
I  ain't  no  slouch.  He  tried  ter  kill  me  onct." 


256  LEN  GANSETT. 

"You  don't  say  so?" 

"Beckon  I  do.  Tried  to  fling  me  offen  a  bluff,  an*  I 
ain't  f  urgot  it,  nuther.  Got  ernuff  licker  in  me  ter  whip 
the  fust  feller  and  the  next  one  what  comes  erlong,  an' 
when  I  git  afoul  uv  Gansett  I  won't  use  a  hroon-straw, 
nuther.  Ain't  afeerd  uv  hell'n'er  high  water.  Got 
licker  ernuff  in  me  ter  tell  yer  that.  Never  was  downed 
by  a  man  yit.  Wall,  so  long.  Ef  anything  happens, 
keep  yer  mouth  shet.  Got  licker  ernuff  in  me  ter  tell 
yer  that." 


LEN  GANSETT.  257 


XXVII. 

HONEYCUT,  staggering  as  he  walked,  turned  away. 
Dockery,  watching  him  mused:  "Don't  believe  it  would 
be  very  good  for  Gansett  if  he  were  to  meet  that  fellow 
in  the  road.  I  haven't  got  anything  particularly  against 
Gansett,  and  would  warn  him  of  his  danger  if  I  were 
not  afraid  of  Honeycut.  He  would  accuse  me  of  med 
dling  in  his  affairs.  Honeycut  is  a  bad  man.  I  haven't 
the  physical  courage  to  tackle  bad  men,  but.  when  it 
comes  to  moral  courage  I  am  essentially  there." 

Honeycut  went  to  the  "Picket"  office,  seized  the  dor- 
knob,  rattled  the  door,  and  exclaimed:  "Come  out  ef 
yer  air  in  thar!  I'm  fixed  fur  yer,  an'  ken  whup  Mort 
Haney  an'  ther  whole  kit  an'  b'ilin'  uv  yer.  Got  licker 
ernuff  in  me  ter  tell  yer  what  I  want  yer  ter  un'erstan'. 
Ain't  in  thar,  eh?  Wall,  I  reckon  I  ken  find  yer/' 

He  turned  away,  and  with  unsteady  steps  pursued  his 
course  toward  old  man  Gansett's  house.  Once  he  step 
ped  in  a  wagon-rut  and  fell.  He  scrambled  up,  clapped 
his  hand  on  his  side  pocket,  and  said,  "Thought  I'd 
broke  old  Betsy,  but  I  hain't,  though.  Come  out,  Bets, 
an'  let  me  tilt  yer." 

He  drew  a  bottle  from  his  pocket,  shook  it,  and  held 
it  up  between  himself  and  the  sheet  lightning  which 
continued  to  flash  in  the  west. 

"Here's  ter  yer,  ole  red-eye,"  he  said.  "Lightnin'  ter 
lightnin'  an'  dad's  deal.  Haw,  haw,  that  ain't  bad! 


258  ZEN  GANSETf. 

Here's  at  yer,  dod  rot  yer!"  He  took  a  drink,  returned 
the  bottle  to  his  pocket  and  continued  his  walk. 

"I'm  stirred  up  now,"  he  muttered.  "Ain't  nothin' 
like  gittin'  er  man's  blood  b'ilin'  hot.  Whup  any  man 
in  the  country.  Got  licker  ernuff  in  me  ter  say  that, 
an'  do  whut  I  say,  too.  Hi  yah,  you  little  son-of-a-gun!" 
A  frightened  dog  had  run  across  the  road.  Thunder 
rumbled  in  the  far  west,  and  the  lightning  became  more 
vivid. 

"I'll  call  ther  whelp  out  an'  put  it  ter  him,  an'  ef  the 
old  man  kicks  I'll  gin  him  er  dose.  Whoop!  on  thar  war 
path  now,  with  plenty  uv  licker  an'  forty  yards  uv  back 
bone.  Come  out,  Bets,  an'  lemme  tickle  yer.  Whew!" 
he  added,  as  he  recorked  the  bottle,  "I'm  as  hot  as  a 
guinea  nigger  er  thinnin'  co'n.  B'l'eve  I'll  rest  erwhile 
an'  then  cut  my  capers;  'sides  that,  I  ain't  got  quite 
licker  'nuff  yit." 

He  stepped  aside  into  the  woods  and  sat  down  on  a 
log,  placing  the  bottle  beside  him;  then,  in  a  hoarse 
voice,  he  began  to  sing: — 

"Nigger  on  er  wood-pile,  couldn't  count  'leben, 

Flung  him  in  er  feather-bed  an'  he  thought  he  wuz  in  heben, 

An'  er,  oh,  Lawd,  gals,  come  er  git  out  uv  ther  wilderness"-- 

"Hell,  whut's  the  use'n  singin'  when  thar  ain't  no 
body  ter  hear  me?.  Come  here,  Bets."  He  snatched  up 
the  bottle  and  drank.  Then  he  leaned  forward,  with 
his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  with  his  chin  resting  on 
the  palms  of  his  hands.  "Bet  yer  life,  ole  Honeycut 
never  furgits  nothin'.  Bet  yer  life,  ef  er  man  slights 
him  he's  got  ter  look  out  fur  hisse'f.  Go  down  thar 


LEN  GANSETT.  259 

putty  soon,  an'  stir  things  up  with  a  sharp  stick.  Oh, 
I'm  here,  bet  yer  life  on  that!  Come  here,  Bets.  Whut's 
the  matter  with  yer?  Gittin'  empty,  eh?  Wall,  I  know 
whar  thar's  mo'  ter  be  found." 

His  head  sunk  lower.  He  muttered  something,  snored, 
and  fell  off  the  log.  He  did  not  get  up,  but  stretched 
himself  out  and  turned  over  on  his  back.  Wind,  vivid 
flashes  of  lightning,  and  deafening  claps  of  thunder, 
but  the  wretch  did  not  awake.  Eain  fell  in  torrents; 
still  he  slept,  not  on  his  back,  for,  with  a  drunken  man's 
unconscious  instinct,  he  had  turned  over  on  his  side, 
and  shielded  his  head  with  his  arms.  The  rain  was 
still  falling  when  Honey  cut  sprang  to  his  feet.  He 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  alarm. 

"My  Lord,  whut  am  I  doin'  here?  Whar's  my  bottle? 
Empty!"  he  despairingly  added.  "Whar  am  I,  anyway? 
Blamed  ef  I  know.  Wet  as  er  drowned  rat,  but  as  dry  as 
erbone.  Some  feller  must've  flung  me  up,  wet  ur  dry, 
an'  I  must've  come  down  on  both  sides  at  wunst.  No 
use'n  tryin'  ter  find  my  way  outen  here  tell  daylight. 
Gittin'  lighter  now,  'pears  like.  Let  me  see,  whut  wuz 
I  goin'  ter  do  anyway?  Yes,"  he  added,  with  a  shud 
der,  "I  was  on  my  way  ter  kill  Gansett." 

The  shudder  was  not  the  result  of  the  abhorrence  in 
which  he  held  the  shedding  of  blood,  but  of  thinking 
of  his  own  danger.  The  darkness  surrendered  with 
reluctance;  daylight  came  with  faint  and  timid  streaks. 

"Humph!"  grunted  Honey  cut;  "I  ain't  fur  frum  ther 
road,  an'  I  b'l'eve  I'll  shove  away  frum  here.  Gee  whiz!" 
he  exclaimed,  when  he  had  turned  a  bend  in  the  road, 
"yander  is  old  Gansett's  house.  Ef  I'd  er  knowd  I  wuz 


260  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

so  clos't  last  night  I  woulder  kep'  on  an'  not  sot  down  on 
that  log.  Mebbe  it's  er  good  thing  fur  somebody  that  I 
did  stop,  an'  I  don't  know  ef  that  somebody  ain't  me. 
Thar's  ther  ole  man  in  ther  yard.  Never  ketch  him  in 
bed  airter  daylight.  Who's  that  with  him?  Blamed  ef 
it  ain't  Dockery.  Lemme  see,  didn't  I  meet  him  last 
night  B'l'eve  I  did.  Wonder  ef  I  said  anything  ter 
him  erbout  Gansett?  Don't  b'l'eve  I'd  better  go  by  thar. 
Helloa,  they  see  me,  an'  I  mout's  well  face  ther  music. 
Thar's  Len,  too.  They  air  all  comin'  out  ter  ther  fence." 

Dockery  walked  behind  Len,  apparently  attempting 
to  shrink  from  view. 

"Good-mornin',  gentlemen"  was  Mr.  Honeycut's 
salutation  as  he  reached  the  fence  and  placed  his  arms 
on  the  top  rail.  "Got  out  putty  early,  didn't  yer?  But 
yer  wa'n't  out  as  early  as  I  wuz,  fur  I  ain't  been  ter  bed 
yit.  Helloa,  Dockery! — thought  I  left  yer  in  town  last 
night." 

"I  believe  you  did;  that  is,  I  remember  seeing  you  in 
town  about  the  time  I  had  started  to  visit  my  esteemed 
contemporary  here." 

"Old  man,"  said  Honeycut,  "lookin'  well  this  mornin', 
fresh  as  er  watermillon  vine  airter  er  rain." 

"I  am  feelin'  very  well,"  the  old  man  replied. 

"An'  you,"  pursued  Honeycut,  addressing  Len,  "air 
all  right,  air  yer?" 

"Yes;  with  thanks  for  your  kind  inquiry." 

"Not  er  tall,  not  er  tall.  Say,  Dockery,  ef  yer  ain't 
too  busy  I'd  like  ter  see  yer  er  minit." 

Dockery  pretended  not  to  hear.    He  quickly  looked  at 


LEN  GANSETT.  261 

Len,  then  at  the  old  man,  and  then  looked  far  away  at 
nothing. 

"Hear  whut  I  said,  Dock?" 

"How's  that?" 

"I  said  ef  yer  wa'n't  too  "busy  I'd  like  ter  see  yer  er 
minit:" 

Dockery  reluctantly  passed  out  at  the  gate,  and  joined 
Honeycut.  They  walked  a  short  distance  away,  neither 
of  them  speaking. 

"I  wanted  ter  ax  yer,"  said  Honeycut,  stopping  and 
placing  one  foot  on  a  low  stump,  "ef  yer  said  anythin* 
ter  them  fellows  erbout  our  talk  last  night." 

Honeycut  was  leaning  forward  with  his  elbow  on  his 
knee.  He  looked  up  at  Dockery  with  a  wicked  squint. 

"What  talk?"  the  editor  asked,  nervously  picking  at 
a  thread  on  his  dingy  coat-sleeve. 

"The  talk  we  had  last  night  when  I  had  so  much  licker 
aboard." 

"Oh,  that  talk!    Not  a  word,  Honeycut;  not  a  word." 

"What  made  yer  come  over  so  soon  airter  I  left?" 

"Had  particular  business  with  Len." 

"Whut  bus'ness?" 

"Oh,  something  with  regard  to  the  consolidation  of 
our  papers.  Say,  they  are  there  waiting  for  me.  Eeckon 
breakfast  must  be  ready." 

"Wall,  I  must  shove  along.  Eecolleck  I  don't  want 
no  underhand  bus'ness  with  me.  Eecolleck  that  even 
when  I'm  sober  I  am  all  wool,  an'  er  little  mo'n  three- 
quarters  uv  er  yard  wide." 

Dockery  rejoined  Len  and  old  man  Gansett.  After 
leaving  Honeycut  the  night  before,  the  wily  editor, 


262  £##  GAN8ETT. 

thinking  that  his  time  for  making  a  strike  had  come, 
hurried  to  the  Gansett  farm.  "If  I  warn  Len,"  he 
mused,  "he  will  do  everything  he  can  to  help  me  into  the 
good,  an,  I  hope,  profitable  graces  of  old  man  Chack- 
erin;  and  I  am  running  no  risk,  for  the  fellow,  even  if 
he  should  hurt  somebody  and  escape,  can't  remember 
that  he  met  me.  I  can  prepare  Len,  and  when  Honey- 
cut  comes  Len  can  shoot  him,  and  that  will  be  the  end  of 
it.  If  old  Chaekerin  should  fail  to  take  me  in,  Len,  in 
view  of  the  service  I  have  performed,  will  gladly  consent 
to  a  consolidation  of  our  papers.  Then  I  can  walk  right 
into  Congress." 

Dockery,  upon  imparting  his  startling  information, 
had  been  much  cast  down  at  the  quiet  demeanor  of  the 
old  man  and  his  grandson.  The  old  man  had  merely 
remarked,  "I  knew  a  feller  once  that  started  out  to  kill 
a  community  of  people,  but  he  was  shortly  afterward 
took  with  the  cramp  an'  died  without  seem'  his  friends." 

Dockery,  with  the  confused  shadows  of  disappoint 
ment  and  dismay  settling  upon  his  face  turned  to  Len, 
hoping  to  read  some  sign  of  alarm,  but  the  young  man 
had  chilled  him  by  this  quiet  observation:  "Whiskey 
has  different  effects  upon  some  people.  Some  people 
want  to  sing,  others  to  dance,  others  to  tell  all  they 
know, — which,  barring  repetition,  would  consume  but 
little  time, — and  others  want  to  fight." 

When  the  rain  came,  the  old  man,  much  elated  at  the 
prospects  of  a  good  "season,"  went  out  and  get  wet,  as 
usual,  and  when  bedtime  arrived  Dockery  was  shown 
to  a  room.  He  had  seen  none  of  the  preparations  which 
alarm  should  inspire,  and,  after  starting  at  every  sound, 


LEN  OANSETT.  263 

sank  into  a  troubled  sleep.  Dockery  thought  of  all  this 
as  he  slowly  walked  hack  to  the  spot  where  Len  and  the 
old  man  were  standing. 

"Wanted  to  borrow  five  dollars  of  me/'  said  Dockery, 
as  he  closed  the  gate. 

"Did  you  let  him  have  the  money?"  Len  asked,  wink 
ing  at  the  old  man. 

"No,  I  told  him  that  times  were  so  hard  that  I  couldn't 
afford  it." 

"Wonder  why  he  didn't  call  on  us  last  night?"  the 
old  man  remarked. 

"Must  have  got  too  drunk,"  Dockery  rejoined;  "but 
let  me  tell  you,  Len,  keep  an  eye  on  him,  for  he's  a 
bad  man;  and,  by  the  way,  if  he  should  ever  ask  you  why 
I  came  over  last  night,  for  the  Lord's  sake — and  my  own 
— don't  tell  him.  He  wouldn't  hesitate  to  butcher  me 
and  head  me  up  in  a  flour-barrel." 

Immediately  after  breakfast  Dockery  returned  to  Dog 
wood.  While  Len  was  waiting  for  Ned  to  come  along 
Colonel  Bently  rode  up. 

"Light,  colonel,  an'  look  at  yer  saddle,"  old  Bob 
called. 

"No,  thank  you,  I  haven't  time.  I  want  to  see  Len 
a  moment." 

By  this  time  Len  had  reached  the  fence. 

"How  are  you,  my  dear  fellow?"  said  the  colonel, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

They  cordially  shook  hands.  "No,"  said  the  colonel, 
in  reply  to  a  pressing  invitation  to  get  down,  "I  haven't 
time.  I  came  over  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

"It  is  granted  before  you  name  it/' 


264  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

"I  thought  so.  For  some  time  I  have  been  thinking 
of  going  to  England.  I  am  an  Englishman  "by  birth, 
you  know.  I  want  to  go  back  and  look  at  the  old 
country  once  more,  and  I  want  you,  while  I  am  away, 
to  look  after  my  house  and  affairs  as  well  as  you  can. 
You  needn't  go  over  to  the  house  very  often,  once  every 
three  days,  say." 

"Of  course  I  will  serve  you  to  the  fullest  extent  of 
my  capacity,  but  you  are  not  going  at  once,  are  you?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  immediately.  I  have  considerable  busi 
ness  to  attend  to  before  I  leave;  must  go  to  Little  Rock, 
and  possibly  to  Galveston.  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  Oak 
Hill  to  complete  the  sale  of  my  stage  line.  I  am  to  meet 
a  man  there  from  St.  Louis.  Well,  I'll  see  you  again 
and  have  a  long  talk  with  you  before  I  leave.  Take  care 
of  yourself  until  I  see  you  again." 

A  few  moments  later  Ned  made  her  appearance.  She 
wore  a  new  muslin  dress,  covered  with  pink  prints  of 
flowers.  It  could  not  have  been  made  plainer,  but  it  was 
the  picture  of  neatness.  She  wore  two  roses  in  her  hair, 
and  around  her  waist  she  had  gayly  tied  a  belt  of  vines. 

"Why,  my  little  girl,"  said  Len,  advancing  to  meet 
her,  "you  look  as  though  you  were  dressed  for  a  festival." 

"You  sha'n't  make  fun  of  me,"  she  laughingly  said, 
and  then  ,glancing  toward  the  house  to  see  if  any  one 
were  looking,  she  snatched  the  vines  from  around  her 
waist,  and,  holding  both  ends,  threw  them  over  Len's 
head,  pulled  him  down  and  kissed  him.  When  she  had 
released  him  and  bounded  away  he  said,  "Come,  don't 
you  think  you'd  better  throw  that  delicious  lariat 
again?" 


LEN  GANSETT.  265 

"No,  I  don't,  you  rascal!" 

"You  started  in  with  so  much  more  affection  tnan 
usual  that  I  thought  you  might  keep  it  up." 

"But  I'm  not." 

"Why  are  you  dressed  so  beautifully  this  morning?" 

"Keep  away  from  me,"  she  joyously  cried.  "You'll 
muss  me  all  up.  I  came  over  to  tell  you  that  I  am  not 
going  to  work  to-day.  This  is  father's  birthday,  and  we 
are  going  to  spend  it  in  the  woods." 

"Won't  you  let  me  spend  it  with  you?" 

"No,  that  wouldn't  do." 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  don't  you  nuderstand?  If  you  are  with  me  I 
can't  be  the  girl  I  was,  and  to-day  I  am  going  back  in 
the  past." 

"But  why  do  you  wear  that  dress?" 

"So  when  I  look  at  it  my  heart  can  leap  out  of  the 
past  and  swell  in  contemplation  of  the  future.  Won't 
you  let  me  have  my  way?" 

"Assuredly;  but  you  have  thrown  down  your  lariat." 

"Oh,  I'll  kiss  you,  but  don't  put  your  hands  on  me. 
There,  and  there,"  kissing  him  twice.  "Now  let  me  go. 
Was  ever  there  a  woman  such  a  fool  about  a  man?" 

She  ran  away  from  him.  The  sun  came  out.  He  saw 
the  roses  nodding  in  the  bright  light  as  she  ran  down 
the  hill. 

Shortly  after  Len  reached  the  office  he  received  a 
note  from  Miss  Pauline,  asking  him  to  call  on  her 
immediately.  When  he  arrived  at  her  boarding-house 
he  found  her  standing  at  the  gate. 

"You  must  excuse  my  sending  for  you,"  she  said,  "but 


266  LEN  GANSETT. 

I  wanted  to  see  you  on  very  particular  business.  Good 
ness,  I  have  not  asked  you  to  come  in.  How  I  do  go  on!" 

"I  haven't  time  to  come  in." 

"Well,  then,  I  must  consult  you  out  here.  You  are 
a  comparative  stranger  to  me,  but  I  do  feel  as  if  I  could 
confide  in  you.  Girls  have  so  few  friends  in  whom  they 
can  rely  anyway — there  I  go  again.  Well,  what  I  am 
going  to  say  is  this,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  breathe  a 
word  of  it  to  aybody,  not  a  living  soul:  yesterday  evening 
Mr.  Dockery  came  to  see  me  and — now  you  are  not  to 
mention  it — and  asked  me  to  be  his  wife.  I  was 
shocked,  for  the  proposal  was  so  unexpected.  I  did  not 
give  him  a  final  answer,  preferring  rather  to  consult 
some  one.  What  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do?" 

"Miss  Chackerin,  I  am  the  last  man  in  the  world  you 
should  consult." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  am  not  competent  to  give  advice  with 
regard  to  such  matters." 

"Well,  you  can  tell  me  this:    What  are  his  prospects?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  his  business." 

"But  don't  you  think  that  with  my  help  his  paper 
might  be  made  to  pay?" 

"I  cannot  say." 

"Well,  then,  I  must  rely  on  my  own  judgment." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  Dockery 
was  writing  a  letter  to  the  postmaster  of  the  town  in 
which  old  man  Chackerin  lived. 


LEN  GA.NSETT.  267 


XXVIII. 

ONE  evening  Len  received  a  note  from  Colonel  Bently, 
requesting,  if  convenient,  an  immediate  interview.  Gan- 
sett  answered  the  note  by  calling  at  the  colonel's  house. 

"Ah,  my  dear  boy,"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  cordially 
seizing  Len's  hand,  "I  knew  you  would  come!  I  did 
not  like  the  idea  of  placing  you  under  the  slightest  in 
convenience,  and  would  have  called  on  you,  but  really, 
in  my  present  state  of  hurry  and  bustle,  I  could  but  ill 
spare  the  time/' 

"Don't  mention  it,"  Len  replied,  seating  himself  in 
an  arm-chair  which  the  host  had  brought  forward. 
"Have  you  perfected  all  your  arrangements?" 

"Not  satisfactorily.  I  have  failed  to  dispose  of  my 
stage  line.  The  man  made  his  appearance,  but  having 
heard,  while  in  the  neighborhood,  that  the  stage  was 
sometimes  robbed,  he  gracefully  withdrew,  and  returned 
to  St.  Louis.  But  I  shall  not  allow  this  to  interfere  with 
my  trip.  I  would  go  now  that  I  have  made  up  my  mind, 
even  if  I  were  compelled  to  sacrifice  everything  I  possess. 
Would  it  be  asking  too  much  to  request  you  to  go  out 
to  Oak  Hill  occasionally?  I  haven't,  as  you  are  aware, 
much  confidence  in  my  driver,  and  I  do  not  think  that 
my  agent  at  Oak  Hill  is  above  turning  a  dishonest  penny 
now  and  then." 

"My  dear  colonel,"  Len  rejoined,  warmly,  "you  can 
not  ask  too  much  of  me." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear  boy.    It  is  positively  refreshing 


268  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

to  meet  a  man  who  has  so  fine  a  sense  of  accomodation. 
Understand,  now,  you  are  not  to  put  yourself  to  any 
trouble.  I  don't  want  you  to  neglect  a  single  thing  your 
duty  to  yourself  says  must  be  performed.  To  you  my 
interests  must  be  of  minor  consideration.  Everything, 
I  trust,  will  go  on  smoothly,  that  is,  as  smoothly  as  here 
tofore;  and,  assured  that  you  will  throw  out  an  occasional 
glance  in  my  behalf,  the  waves  of  the  old  ocean  may 
toss  me,  the  blanching  cliffs  of  my  native  land  may 
throw  at  me  ill-boding  look,  my  native  town,  where 
William  of  Orange  first  set  his  foot  in  England,  may 
refuse  to  greet  me  with  a  single  gleam  of  welcome,  yet  I 
shall  feel  perfectly  easy  with  regard  to  my  interest  here. 
Not  another  word,  Gansett,"  he  added,  as  Len  made  a 
motion  with  his  hands,  expressive  of  the  obligations 
which  overwhelmed  him;  "not  another  word.  I  want  no 
promises.  I  only  want  to  know  that  you  will  not  entirely 
forget  me.  There'  I  have  wearied  you  with  my  profuse 
estimate  of  your  sendees.  John,"  addressing  a  negro 
boy  who  had  just  made  his  appearance,  "Mr.  Gansett 
will  stay  all  night  and  see  me  off  in  the  morning.  Not 
another  word,  now.  Come,  supper  is  ready." 

After  supper  the  two  men  talked  until  the  clock  struck 
a  late  hour.  The  colonel  explained  his  plans.  He  was 
so  much  wrapped  up  in  his  contemplated  visit  to  his  old 
home  that  he  did  not  look  beyond  it. 

He  fell  into  reminiscence,  then  sank  into  history.  He 
would  approach  his  home  with  the  admiration  of  a  stu 
dent,  and  would  bound  ashore  with  the  enthusiasm  of 
a  delighted  boy.  His  people  had  never  been  great  in 
history,  having  espoused  the  parliament's  cause  in  the 


LEN  GANSETT.  269 

great  civil  war,  but  they  had  always  commanded  respect 
in  their  neighborhood.  "I  shall,"  the  colonel  said, 
"tremble  with  none  of  the  emotions  which  seize  a  man 
who  returns  to  a  home  where  familiar  scenes  await  him. 
There  are  no  great  trees  well  known  in  childhood,  nor 
no  gushing  springs  associated  with  youth,  to  await  me, 
— for  I  cannot  remember  when  I  left  the  country, — but 
I  feel  that  I  shall  approach  as  the  Oriental  approaches  a 
mosque  at  whose  shrine  his  fathers  worshipped.  I  shall 
feel  the  grandeur  which  ages  have  woven  into  wreaths 
and  wound  about  the  summits  of  the  old  hills;  and  the 
stars,  to  me,  will  seem  as  though  from  time  immemorial 
they  have  been  set  to  watch  over  the  scene." 

Early  the  next  morning  the  colonel,  bidding  Len  fare 
well,  was  driven  to  Oak  Hill. 

The  Hon.  Mangus  Dockery  had  not  long  to  wait  for 
an  aswer  to  his  letter,  making  inquiry  of  Miss  Pauline's 
father.  The  postmaster  wrote  as  follows:  "Old  man 
Chackerin  has  been  living  here  several  years;  came  from 
Indiana,  I  believe.  He  may  have  been  a  great  slave 
owner  in  his  time,  but  if  he  did  it  was  under  a  special  act 
of  Congress.  The  old  fellow  is  a  sot.  I  am  told  that  he  is 
a  pretty  fair  shoemaker,  which  is  much  to  his  credit, 
but  he  has  long  since  degenerated  into  an  unreliable 
cobbler.  He  owns  no  property,  and  if  you  hear  a  man 
who  ever  collected  a  debt  which  the  old  fellow  owed, 
please  forward  his  name  at  once.  Barring  the  fact  that 
he  has  never  been  detected  in  telling  a  truth,  he  is  a 
pretty  good  sort  of  fellow.  His  daughter,  partly  by  her 
own  force  of  will  and  partly  by  subscription,  received 
a  very  fair  education.  She  might  have  done  well  here 


270  LEX  GAN8ETT. 

if  she  had  not,  after  her  return  from  school,  considered 
herself  superior  to  every  one  in  the  community.  It  may 
not  be  of  interest,  but  I  will  say  that  she  created  quite 
a  sensation  here  some  time  ago  by  suing  a  well-known 
lawyer  for  breach  of  promise.  If  the  old  man  owes  you 
anything,  please  accept  my  sympathy.  If  you  want  my 
bill  against  him  I  will  send  it  to  you." 

Mr.  Dockery  groaned  when  he  read  the  letter,  and, 
although  his  office  was  well  ventilated,  he  raised  the 
window  and  stuck  his  head  out,  much  after  the  fashion 
of  the  deputy  sheriff  who  calls  people  into  court.  He 
let  down  the  window,  went  out,  looked  toward  Miss 
Pauline's  school,  and  frowned.  Then  he  returned  to 
his  desk,  slammed  a  chair  made  of  twine  strings  and  pine 
boards  against  the  wall — which  made  the  house  shake — 
and  said,  "Catch  anybody  picking  me  up!  Catch  any 
woman  making  a  fool  of  me!  I  haven't  lived  here  for 
nothing.  Needn't  think  I  am  a  summer  coon.  Thinks 
she's  caught  me,  but  she's  off.  Came  into  this  neighbor 
hood  representing  herself  as  a  princess;  but  I'll  show  her 
what's  what.  Nobody  can  pick  me  up.  No,  Hon.  Mr. 
Dockery,"  he  added,  as  he  caught  sight  of  himself  in  a 
three-cornered  fragment  of  looking-glass,  tacked  against 
the  wall,  "no  lady  can  play  you  for  a  sucker.  Some 
people — ignorant  people,  I  must  say — may  consider 
Mangus  Dockery  a  sucker;  but  he  is  not.  Mangus  is  on 
top;  and  don't  you  forget  that.  Even  if  his  marriage  is 
null  and  void,  don't  forget  that  he  can  work  Gansett, 
who  is  indebted  to  him  for  his  life.  Now,  young  lady, 
you  must  shift  for  yourself.  You  may  be  accomplished 
and  all  that,  but  Mr.  Dockery — the  Hon.  Mr.  Dockery, 


LEN  GANSETT.  271 

if  you  please — cannot  afford  to  throw  himself  away  on 
you.  He  would  love  you — yes,  if  you  had  not  deceived 
him,  but  as  it  is,  you  must  take  your  chances.  Miss 
Pauline,  I  am  afraid  I  must  bid  you  an  extended  adieu." 

Mr.  Dockery  had  received  a  note  from  Miss  Pauline, 
in  which  that  young  lady  confessed  her  devouring  love 
for  him,  together  with  a  happy  concurrence  in  the  mar 
riage  proposal.  Dockery  had,  in  an  unrestrained  gush 
of  sentiment,  answered  the  note.  He  told  the  young 
lady  that  without  h§r  his  life  would  be  a  barren  wasle. 
Why  he  expressed  himself  in  a  manner  so  original  is  not 
known.  It  is  somewhat  singular  that  other  men  have 
not  said,  "without  you  my  life  would  be  a  barren  waste." 

"I  am  committed  to  call  upon  you  this  evening,"  Mr. 
Dockery  continued  to  muse;  "but,  Maid  of  Athens, 
Tennessee,  thou  shalt  feel  that  thy  lover  hath  departed, 
and  that  the  cool,  unruffled,  and  severe  critic  has  taken 
his  place.  Maid  of  Eome,  Georgia,  the  man  in  whom 
this  intelligent  community  placed  its  most  sacred  trust 
may  be  generous  to  a  fault,  and  forgiving  to  a  degree 
almost  unbecoming  to  a  statesman,  but  he  cannot  quietly 
submit  to  a  marriage  which,  however  advantageous  to 
the  other  party,  is  disastrous  to  himself.  Maid  of 
Alexandria,  Arkansas,  farewell!" 

At  the  appointed  time  Dockery  called  at  the  house 
where  Miss  Chackerin  irritated  a  nervous  old  piano,  and 
ate  beefsteak  fried  in  ham-fat  and  ancient  lard.  She  met 
him  with  a  gracious  smile,  and  gracefully  wheeled  an 
arm-chair  into  position  for  him.  When  he  had  seated 
himself,  she  placed  an  ottoman — a  small  cheese-box 
covered  with  a  piece  or  rag  carpet — near  the  chair,  sat 


272  'LEN  GANSETT. 

down  upon  it,  clasped  her  hands  over  Mr.  Dockery's 
knee,  looked  with  soft  eyes  at  him,  and  said: — 

"The  shadows  of  evening  come  and  darken  the  earth, 
but  love,  mingled  love,  makes  all  things  bright." 

Dockery  nervously  twisted  himself  in  his  chair,  looked 
away  at  the  village  cow,  which  just  at  that  time  was  lift 
ing  a  yard  gate  off  its  hinges,  and  replied,  "Yes,  that's 
a  fact." 

Miss  Pauline,  looking  searchingly  at  him,  responded: 
"By  commonplace  acknowledgement,  sentiment  loses 
half  its  charm.  You  seem  cool  and  distant  this  eve." 

"I  am  not  cool,"  Dockery  answered,  as  he  mopped 
the  perspiration  from  his  face.  "If  I  were,  I  would  not 
ooze  so  freely,  and  being  so  near  you  is  a  refutation  of 
your  assertion  that  I  am  distant." 

"Come,  Mangus,  I  am  too  tender  to  be  joked.  The 
birds  twitter,  but  they  do  not  joke  with  each  other.  Let 
us  be  serious." 

"I  am  serious,"  Dockery  answered,  in  a  tone  so  rasping 
that  Miss  Pauline  unclasped  her  hands.  "This  is  a  time 
ti  be  serious,  Miss  Chackerin;  it  is  my  painful  duty  to 
tell  you  that  our  warm  relationship  must  end.  I  hold 
you  in  the  highest  esteem,  understand,  and  shall  ever  be 
willing  to  assist  you;  but  my  duty  to  my  constituents — 
I  mean  my  duty  to  myself,  forbids  our  marriage." 

The  young  lady  did  not  become  excited.  She  did  not 
seize  a  handkerchief  and  press  it  to  her  eyes,  but,  aris 
ing  from  the  ottoman  and  taking  a  sort  of  whalebone 
position,  suggestive  of  being  ready  to  spring,  she 
replied: — 

"Your  mind,  I  fancy,  is  playing  you  odd  capers." 


LEN  GANSETT.  273 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all.  I  find  that  my  prospects  are  not 
so  bright  as  I  thought.  My  subscription  list  has  begun 
to  fall  off  and  my  advertising  patronage  has  begun  to 
shrink.  I  dislike  to  tell  you  this,  but  is  my  duty/' 

"I  can  help  you  to  regain  what  you  have  lost." 

"I  don't  think  you  can.  In  times  of  prosperity  a 
woman  may  be  a  blessing  in  a  printing-office,  but  at  time 
of  adversity  she  is  a  curse." 

With  demeanor  distressingly  calm,  in  a  voice  danger 
ously  firm,  Miss  Pauline  said: — 

"Mr.  Dockery,  in  your  dealings  with  shallow-minded 
people  vacillation  may  count  as  an  evidence  of  genius, 
but  I  wish  to  assure  you  that  I  am  not  shallow-minded, 
and  that  I  shall  not  permit  any  vacillation  to  interfere 
with  my  plans.  You  have  asked  me  to  be  your  wife;  1 
have  consented." 

"Yes,  but  now  I  tell  you  that  1  am  in  no  condition  to 
marry  you." 

"Yes,  you  are." 

"I  tell  you  that  I  am  not.  I  am  a  married  man.  My 
wife  lives  in  Texas." 

Even  this  did  not  shock  her.  "Mr.  Dockery,"  she 
calmly  replied,  "I  admire  a  skilful  falsehood,  but  I 
detest  a  clumsy  one." 

"You  don't  believe  that  I  am  married?" 

"No;"  but  I  believe  that  you  soon  will  be." 

"Here,  read  this,"  said  Dockery,  taking  from  his 
pocket  the  postmaster's  letter,  and  handing  it  to  her. 
She  read  the  letter,  and  without  the  slightest  emotion 
returned  it  to  him.  "It  is  a  verj;  well  written  letter/'" 


274  LEN  GANSETT. 

she  said.  "I  did  not  know  the  fellow  could  write  so 
well." 

"Great  Lord,,  woman!"  Dockery  exclaimed;  "does 
nothing  have  any  effect  on  you?" 

"Nothing  produces  no  effect.  Something  must  be 
introduced  to  produce  an  effect  upon  me.  Oh,  I  see  your 
disappointment.  You  thought  that  I  was  a  giddy,  sim 
pering  girl,  and  found  that  I  am — " 

"Old  enough  to  be  my  mother/'  Dockery  suggested. 

She  laughed,  turned  down  the  light  which  was  burn 
ing  too  high,  and  replied,  "In  sense,  yes;  in  other 
respects,  no.  You  expected  to  hear  sobs  and  see  tears 
to-night,  but  you  are  disappointed.  I  desire  to  tell  you, 
sir,  that  I  am  no  fool.  There  is  only  one  person  in  this 
neighborhood  sharp  enough  to  deal  with  me,  and  that 
person — and  1  cannot  help  but  admire  her — is  that  self- 
educated  Miss  Hobdy.  Oh,  you  expected  to  hear  me 
rattle  off  a  rhapsody,  eh?  Well,  I  have  not.  Now,  sir, 
I  shall  be  plain  with  you.  I  must  be  your  wife;  not  par 
ticularly  because  I  love  you,  but  because  I  have  set  my 
heart  upon  it.  You  cannot  escape  me.  I  have  a  note 
from  you,  in  which  you  acknowledged  your  love  for  me, 
and  in  which  you  speak  of  our  approaching  marriage. 
I  have  taken  care  to  preserve  this  bit  of  writing,  not  on 
account  of  its  sentiment,  but  on  account  of  its  value  as 
testimony.  The  letter  which  you  received  from  the 
postmaster  tells  you  that  I  once  sued  a  man  for  breach 
of  promise.  Yes,  and  the  money  which  I  received  paid 
for  a  scholastic  course  which  I  was  desirous  of  taking." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  Dockery  broke  in;  "but  a  suit 


LEN  GANSETT.  275 

brought  against  me  would  not  yield  money  enough  to 
buy  a  supper  for  a  grasshopper." 

"Oh,  I  am  perfectly  aware  of  that,  Mr.  Dockery.  I 
know  that  you  are  worthless,  but  I  shall  sue  you,  never 
theless." 

"You  won't  get  anything." 

"But  I  can  ruin  your  prospects." 

"I  have  no  prospects>" 

"You  have  a  back." 

"A  back?" 

"Yes." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  mean  that  I  shall  sue  you,  and  then  publicly  horse 
whip  you.  0  Mr.  Dockery,"  she  added,  seizing  a  fan 
which  lay  on  the  old  piano,  "old  maids  are  not  always 
weak.  Don't  stare  at  me.  I  am  not  dangerous.  I  have 
told  you  the  result  of  your  refusing  to  marry  me.  Now 
let  me  tell  you  the  result  of  your  compliance.  I  shall 
do  everything  I  can  to  advance  you.  I  will  not  fill  up 
your  paper  with  sentimental  stories,  but  will  write  of 
happenings,  such  as  will  please  our  readers.  I  will  learn 
to  set  type  and  to  manage  the  business.  There  are 
enough  people  in  this  community  to  support  two  papers, 
and  our  paper  must  be  supported.  I  know  that  you  are 
a  man  of  some  reading, — shallow  reading, — and  that  in 
a  certain  way  you  may  become  useful  to  your  interests. 
If  you  refuse  to  love  me,  you  must  obey  me." 

Dockery  got  up,  approached  the  door,  placed  his  hand 
on  the  knob,  turned  and  said: — 

"You're  a  hell  of  a  woman!" 

"You  have  stated  the  case,"  she  replied,  advancing. 


276  LEN  GANSETT. 

"You  want  to  crush  me." 

"No.  that  would  be  no  achievement." 

"If  you  think  so  little  of  me,  why  do  you  want  to 
marry  me?" 

"That  is  a  question  which  almost  puzzles  me.  Fate 
must  have  decreed  it." 

"And  I  suppose  fate  decreed  that  you  should  marry 
the  man  whom  you  sued?" 

"Oh,  no;  but  fate  did  decree  that  he  should  give  me 
money  to  assist  my  education." 

"I  wish  you  had  married  him." 

"So  do  I." 

"Let  me  make  a  proposition." 

"I  am  willing." 

"I  will  leave  it  to  Gansett." 

"All  right.    Shall  we  go  now?" 

"No;  he  is  not  at  his  office.  Let  us  wait  until  to 
morrow." 

"I  agree.    You  will  abide  by  what  he  says?" 

"Yes;  but  you  must  not  see  him  before  I  do." 

"I  won't." 

"I  think  that  he  will  decide  in  my  favor,"  said  Dock- 
ery. 

"If  he  does,  you  will  not  hear  a  word  of  complaint 
from  me." 

"Suppose  we  leave  it  to  Gansett  and  Miss  Hobdy?" 

"I  am  willing." 

"Why  are  you  willing?" 

"Because  I  believe  that  they  will  act  rightly,  and  be 
cause  I  know  that  my  cause  is  right." 


LEN  GAtfSETT.  277 


XXIX. 

ALTHOUGH  Dockery  had  promised  Miss  Pauline  that 
he  would  not  seek  an  opportunity  of  confering  with  Len 
previous  to  an  appointed  time,  when  they  should  both 
call  upon  him  and  Miss  Hobdy,  yet  very  early  the  next 
morning  Dockery  went  over  to  old  man  Gansett's  house. 
He  had  not  time  to  go  into  the  house,  he  declared,  when 
old  Bob  opened  the  door  in  response  to  Dockery's  holloa 
at  the  gate. 

"Tell  Len  to  come  out  a  minute,  please.  I  want  to 
see  him  on  very  particular  business/' 

Len  soon  appeared,  scarcely  able  to  repress  a  laugh 
when  he  noticed  Dockery's  ludicrously  anxious  face. 

"Come  in,  Dockery!" 

"No,  my  dear  friend,  I  haven't  time.  Say,  can  you 
take  a  short  stroll  with  me?" 

"Only  a  very  short  one,  for  breakfast  will  soon  be 
ready." 

They  slowly  walked  along  the  road  winding  among 
the  trees.  "Gansett,"  said  the  editor  of  the  "Eagle  of 
Freedom,"  "to  me  you  have  been  a  friend  of  value  and 
information.  I  have  come  to  you  for  adivce — even  be 
fore  you  were  a  professional — when  I  would  not  have 
gone  anywhere  else,  I  hope,  sir,  that  you  appreciate  the 
confidence  I  have  felt  in  your  ability  and  integrity.  Now, 
sir,  I  again  come  to  you,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  not 
only  advise  me  as — as — as  I  desire  to  be  advised,  but 
that  when  the  question  is  finally  left  to  you,  and  some 


278  LEN  GANSETT. 

one  else  whose  name  I  shall  in  time  reveal,  that  you  will 
decide  in  my  favor/' 

He  then  gave  an  account  of  his  last  interview  with 
Miss  Pauline.  "And  now,  dear  Gansett,"  affectionately 
placing  his  hand  on  Len  shoulder,  "will  you  step  in  and 
save  me  from  a  designing  woman,  whom  I  have  learned 
to  despise?  Would  you  see  me  humilated,  my  useful 
ness  crushed,  my  life  blasted?  I  see,  by  the  noble  ex 
pression  of  your  eyes,  that  you  would  not.  Give  me 
your  hand,  my  dear  Gansett.  Thank  heaven  that  degen 
eration  has  not  placed  its  blighting  hand  upon  every 
man!" 

"You  may  depend  upon  me,  Dockery." 

"God  bless  you,  Gansett!  God  bless  you,  my  dear  boy! 
You  are  a  genius,  if  there  ever  was  one.  Well,  I  must 
hurry  back  now.  When  the  affair  comes  up  be  sure  that 
you  do  not,  by  even  a  look  or  a  nod,  give  the  fair  one  an 
inkling  of  what  has  taken  place  this  morning.3* 

"Leave  all  that  to  me,  Dockery." 

"HI  do  it,  my  dear  friend;  I'll  do  it.  Oh,  I  knew  that 
you  would  not  forget  the  service  which  1  recently  rend 
ered  you." 

"Won't  you  take  breakfast  with  me?" 

The  editor  of  the  "Eagle  of  Freedom"  was  possessed 
of  a  keen  appetite,  and  he  had  never  been  known  to 
decline  an  invitation  to  eat;  yet,  on  this  occasion,  so 
pressing  was  the  necessity  of  fcjs  speedy  return  to  the 
village  that  he  positively  refused  to  eat. 

"It  makes  me  shudder  to  think  of  marrying  that 
woman,"  he  mused,  as  he  hurried  over  a  "near  cut?> 
through  the  woods.  "It  is  startling  to  contemplate  the 


tm   &AXSETT,  279 

impudence  of  low-bred  people.  All,  my  lady,  the  man 
who  handles  the  instrument  which  is  mightier  than  the 
sword  will  give  you  a  turn  to-day  that  you  will  not  soon 
forget/' 

Dockery  was  in  his  office,  making  a  pretence  of  great 
industry  when  Miss  Pauline  called  upon  him. 

"It  is  nearly  school-time/'  she  said,  "and  as  you  did 
not  call  for  me  I  was  afraid  that  you  had  forgotten  your 
promise/' 

"Never  forgot  a  promise  in  my  life,  my  dear  Miss. 
Take  a  seat/' 

"No,  we  have  no  time  to  waste.    Let  us  go  at  once." 

"I  am  ready/' 

"And  I  am  delighted  at  your  willingness." 

"Needn't  be,"  Dockery  muttered  to  himself,  as  he 
raked  a  pile  of  exchanges  into  the  corner. 

When  they  had  entered  the  "Picket"  office  Len  made 
a  sign  to  Collins,  who  immediately  withdrew.  Ned  and 
Miss  Pauline  began  a  vivacious  discussion  of  neighbor 
hood  affairs,  while  Len  and  Dockery  spoke  of  the  poli 
tical  situation.  After  a  while  they  gathered  about  a 
table,  when  Dockery  briefly  stated  the  cause  of  the  visit. 
He  made  a  speech  so  forlornly  absurd  that  his  auditors 
laughed.  "It  is  no  laughing  matter,"  said  the  recal 
citrant  lover.  "It  is  almost  a  case  of  life  and  death." 

When  he  had  concluded,  Miss  Pauline  said:  "The 
strangeness,  I  may  say  the  ridiculousness,  of  this  affair 
is  painfully  apparent,  and  I  would  gladly  wash  my  hands 
of  it  but  for  my  determination  that  Mr.  Dockery  shall 
not  play  with  me  as  though  I  were  a  toy.  He  asked  me 


280  LEN  GANSETT. 

to  be  his  wife.  I  gave  my  consent;  but  when  he  found 
that  I  was  not  a  daughter  of  rich  parents — ' 

"Hold  on!"  Dockery  interposed;  "you  doubtless  mean 
that  when  I  found  that  I  had  been  deceived." 

"You  have  made  your  speech,  sir.  If  I  deceived  you 
more  than  you  deceived  me  it  was  not  due  to  your 
scruples,  but  due  to  the  fact  that  my  chances  were  bet 
ter  than  yours.  I  think  I  am  capable  of  making  him  a 
good  wife." 

"Oh,  I  don't  doubt  that,  Miss,"  Dockery  exclaimed. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Len,  "if  you  do  not  doubt  it,  we 
think  that  you  should  marry  her." 

Dockery's  eyes  bulged  out.  "Don't  joke,  Gansett!" 
he  gasped. 

"It  is  no  joke,  Dockery.  All  men  agree  that  mar 
riage  is  serious." 

Dockery:    "I  appeal  to  Miss  Hobdy." 

Ned:    "Mr.  Gansett  has  expressed  my  opinion." 

Miss  Pauline  (with  a  smiling  bow):  "I  thank  you  for 
the  justice  of  your  decision." 

Dockery  (struggling  to  suppress  his  indignation): 
"There  is  no  justice  about  it.  Gansett  you  have  not 
treated  me  fairly.  Eemember  that  I  one  time  saved 
your  life." 

Gansett  (good-humoredly):  "And  that  I  now  advise 
you  to  make  this  girl  your  wife." 

Dockery  (furiously  striking  the  table):  "This  is  no 
occasion  for  foolish  rhyme." 

Gansett  (laughing):    "Nor  for  violent  action." 

Dockery  (to  ISTed):  "Miss  Hobdy,  I  though  better  of 
you." 


LEN  GANSETT.  281 

Ned:  "In  compliment  of  me  you  might  have  thought 
:  worse." 

Dockery:  "This  beats  any  farce  I  ever  heard  of.  Miss 
Chackerin,  you  surely  did  not  think  that  I  was  in  earn 
est  when  I  proposed  to  leave  this  affair  to  Gansett." 

Miss  Pauline:    "I  took  you  at  your  word." 

Dockery:  "You  should  not  have  done  so.  The  whole 
thing  was  a  joke.  Ha,  ha  (mirthlessly) — only  a  joke. 
I  am  a  humorist,  miss." 

Miss  Pauline:  "I  am  glad  to  know  it.  I  have  often 
heard  that  humorists  haven't  enough  willforce  to  make 
bad  husbands." 

Dockery  (contemptuously):  "Woman,  I  cannot  help 
but  pity  you." 

Gansett  (with  feigned  enthusiasm):  "That  is  an  ex 
cellent  sign  of  our  fair  progress,  for  does  not  Dryden  tell 
us  that  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love?" 

Dockery:    "He  told  a  lie  if  he  referred  to  me." 

Gansett:  "My  dear  sir,  we  do  not  know  but  the  entire 
poem  of  'Alexander's  Feast'  was  written  for  you;  and, 
presuming  so,  it  is  our  duty  to  protect  the  memory  of 
the  great  poet  against  calumny." 

Dockery:  "Oh,  you  be  blamed!  Gansett,  you  needn't 
think  that  you  can  make  fun  of  me." 

Miss  Pauline  (with  a  sigh):  "I  fear  that  we  cannot 
make  anything  of  you." 

Dockery:     "Oh,  you  be  blamed,  too!" 

Gansett:  "He  has,  himself,  degenerated  into  foolish 
rhyming." 

Dockery:  "If  I  have  made  a  rhyme  it  was  uninten 
tional.  Well,  I  don't  think  there's  any  use  in  further 


282  LEN  GANSETT. 

discussing  this  unpleasant  affair.  If  I  were  a  woman, 
and  was  so  anxious  to  get  married  as  Miss  Chackerin  is, 
I  would  surely  drown  myself." 

Miss  Pauline  (bowing  resignedly):  "I  cannot  refute 
the  imputation  that  I  am  anxious  to  get  married.  The 
fact  that  I  am  willing  to  take  you  proves  it." 

Dockery:    "Gansett,  I  shall  not  forget  you." 

Gansett:    Thank  you." 

Dockery  (sarcastically):  "Oh,  you  needn't  feel  under 
any  obligations.  You  told  me  that  you  would  decide  in 
my  favor." 

Miss  Pauline:  "Have  you  had  a  previous  consulta 
tion  with  Mr.  Gansett,  and  that,  too,  after  promising  that 
you  would  not?" 

Dockery  (somewhat  confused):  "Well,  I  happened  to 
see  him  this  morning,  and — " 

Pauline:    "What  time?" 

Gansett:    "About  five  o'clock." 

Pauline  (to  Dockery):  "Yes,  it  was  all  a  joke,  and 
you  are  a  humorist.  I  should  think  that  a  humorist 
would  cut  a  melancholy  figure  in  court." 

Dockery:  "Hang  the  court!  I  don't  pay  any  atten 
tion  to  it." 

Pauline:  "Then  I  am  driven  to  act,  to  some  extent, 
upon  Judge  Lynch's  plan." 

Dockery:    "How?" 

Pauline:  "You  force  me  to  take  the  law  into  my  own 
hands." 

Dockery:    "What  can  you  do?" 

Pauline  (with  dangerous  composure):  "I  can  shoot 
a  pistol  with  remarkable  accuracy." 


LEN  GANSETT.  283 

Dockery  (turning  pale):  "You  certainly  would  not 
•commit  an  act  of  violence/' 

Pauline:     "Justice  must  come,  regardless  of  price." 

Dockery:  "I'll  go  down  and  swear  out  a  peace-war 
rant." 

Pauline:  "You  might  do  that  if  you  succeed  in  reach 
ing  the  magistrate's  office." 

Dockery  began  to  tremble.  He  wiped  his  perspiring 
face,  and  after  a  struggle  with  himself,  said:  "It  has 
been  my  rule  in  life  to  avoid  violence,  and  I  would  rather 
suffer  than  be  the  cause  of  any  one  committing  a  rash 
act.  I  will  marry  you,  Miss." 

"When?" 

"One  week  from  to-day/' 

"No." 

"Well,  when?" 

"Now." 

"Gansett,  you  see  she  will  not  even  give  me  time  to 
say  my  prayers.  I  have  read  of  many  an  outrageous 
affair,  but  this  one  stands  without  precedent.  I  am 
resigned.  I  am  ready." 

She  took  his  arm,  smiled  upon  him,  and,  as  she  gently 
drew  him  toward  the  door,  said:  "I  know  that  this  is 
a  little  out  of  the  regular  order  of  things,  dear;  but  do 
we  not  see  new  sights  and  experience  new  feelings  every 
day?  It  is  the  nature  of  man  to  trample  upon  woman. 
Some  do  so  in  a  more  gentle  and  refined  way  than  others, 
yet  they  all  trample  upon  her.  Mr.  Gansett,  will  you  and 
Miss  Hobdy  come  down  and  witness  the  ceremony?" 

Len  consented,  but  Ned  excused  herself.  The  bridal 
party  soon  reached  the  magistrate's  office,  where  Mr. 


284  LEN  GANSETT. 

Mangus   Dockery   and   Miss   Pauline   Chackerin  were 
married. 

Mrs.  Dockery  continued  to  teach  school  after  her  mar 
riage,  and  it  was  observed  that  the  editor  of  the  "Eagle 
of  Freedom"  got  around  more  among  the  farmers  who 
came  in  from  the  surrounding  country.  Marriage  either 
lowers  or  lifts  a  man,  either  stimulates  his  ambition  or 
saps  his  energy. 

One  day,  when  Dockery's  honeymoon  had  reached  its 
first  quarter,  the  bridegroom,  meeting  Gansett,  said: — 

"Wait  a  minute,  my  dear  boy,  I  want  to  speak  to  you/' 
He  was  nervously  energetic,  and  he  had  a  sort  of  startled 
air  in  suddenly  looking  about  him.  "Gansett,  I  have 
often  heard  that  everything  turns  out  for  the  best,  and  I 
now  believe  that  the  saying  is  true.  Before  my  marriage 
I  cared  but  little  for  money.  You  know  that  I  simply 
threw  it  away;  but  now,  sir,  every  nickel  counts.  My 
wife  is  the  most  extraordinary  woman  I  ever  saw.  You 
might  seine  the  entire  country  and  you  could  not  find 
another  one  like  her.  Sense!  Why,  sir,  that  woman 
is  the  concentration  of  wisdom.  She  actually  knows 
more  than  I  do;  does,  hanged  if  she  don't!  She  gave  up 
her  school  the  other  day,  and  now  she  proposes  to  devote 
herself  to  our  office.  My  office  had  a  little  mortgage — 
a  cloud  about  the  size  of  a  man's  hand — hanging  over  it, 
but  she  has  lifted  it.  Tell  you  another  thing  that  re 
markable  woman  has  done.  She  has  rented  a  small  farm, 
near  town,  and  has  decided  that  I  shall  devote  my  spare 
time  to  it.  She  is  firm, — firm  as  white  oak;  but  then  she 
is  so  gentle  that  I  would  not  for  the  world  wound  her 
feelings  by  disobeying  her." 


LEN  GANSETT.  285 

"I  am  glad  that  you  and  your  wife  are  so  well  suited 
to  each  other,  Dockery." 

"Suited!  Why,  Gansett,  I  never  saw  the  like.  I  owe 
you  an  everlasting  debt  of  gratitude.  Man  often  blindly 
throws  stumbling-blocks  into  the  path  of  his  own  inter 
est,  and  the  reluctance  which  I  exhibited  with  regard 
to  my  marriage,  I  now  see,  was  opposed  to  my  future 
usefulness.  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  you  assisted  in  making 
a  man  of  me.  By  the  way,  when  are  you  and  Miss  Hobdy 
to  be  married?" 

"Very  soon." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,  my  dear  boy.  Put  it  there,"  extend 
ing  his  hand.  "I  tell  you,  sir,  a  man  amounts  to  nothing 
until  he  is  married.  Think  of  gentle  arms  that  twine 
about  your  neck,  of  soft  and  soothing  words  that  fall 
like  balm  upon  your  overworked  brain.  Here  comes  my 
wife." 

Mrs.  Dockery,  who  was  evidently  in  seach  of  her  hus 
band,  approached. 

"Mangus,"  she  said,  "what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Consulting  my  friend  Gansett  with  regard  to  a  busi 
ness  proposition." 

"I  don't  know  that  you  could  consult  a  better  man, 
Mangus;  but  did  I  not  tell  you  to  go  over  to  Parker's 
and  get  the  steers,  and  to  haul  some  wood?" 

"Yes,  and  I  am  going  immediately.  I  know  as  well 
as  any  one  that  printers'  wood  should  be  hauled  up  dur 
ing  warm  weather.  It  is  on  the  same  principle  of  that 
wise  adage,  'In  time  of  peace  prepare  for  war.'  I  think, 
though,  my  dear,  that  Parker  is  using  his  steers  to-day." 

"How  do  you  know?" 


286  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Oh,  well,  he  told  me  some  time  ago  that  he  always 
used  them  on  "Wednesdays." 

"Yes,  but  this  is  Thursday." 

"That's  a  fact.  Well,  I'll  go  over  at  once.  Gansett, 
let  me  see  you  a  moment,"  drawing  Len  aside.  "Say, 
I  wish  you  would  tell  her  that  there  is  plenty  of  time  to 
get  in  the  wood,  and  that  I  ought  to  be  hustling  for  sub 
scribers  among  the  country  people." 

"I  don't  believe,"  Len  smilingly  replied,  "that  it 
would  be  safe  to  interfere  with  her  plans." 

"Why,  my  dear  friend,  she  is  the  gentlest  creature  in- 
the  world.  She  is  afraid  that  I'll  have  to  go  out  in  the 
cold  next  winter  and  chop  wood.  I  tell  you- that  she  is 
the  most  considerate  creature  in  the  world.  The  fact  is, 
she  is  too  careful  of  me." 

"Mangus!" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Are  you  going  after  the  steers?" 

"Yes,  in  a  minute." 

"Well,  go  on,  then." 

Dockery  imploringly  gripped  Len's  arm,  gave  him  an 
appealing  look,  and  slowly  sauntered  away,  not  unlike  a 
"hang-back"  boy  forced  to  execute  a  task.  He  looked 
back  to  see  if  Len  were  talking  to  Mrs.  Dockery,  then, 
without  increasing  his  gait,  disappeared  behind  a  stable. 

Mrs.  Dockery,  smiling  blandly,  turned  to  Len  and 
said:  "Woman  has  gained  one  victory.  Tell  me,  Mr. 
Gansett,  don't  you  think  that  I  am  the  most  peculiar 
woman  you  ever  saw?" 

"You  are  certainly  remarkable." 

"I  determined,  long  ago,  not  to  be  one  of  the  hum- 


LEN  GANSETT.  287 

drum  sort.  With  all  of  my  seeming  imperiousness,  I 
like  Dockery.  He  amuses  me,  and  I  don't  see  how  I 
ever  got  along  without  him.  I  do  not  intend  to  hen- 
peck  him,  but  he  must  understand  that  we  shall  make  a 
living'.  Isn't  that  Mr.  jCollins  coming?" 

"Yes,  he  has  been  to  the  post-office." 

Among  the  letters  which  the  printer  handed  Len  was 
one  bearing  a  foreign  postmark.  It  was  from  Colonel 
Bently. 


288  LEN  GANSETT. 


XXX. 

The  letter,  dated  at  London,  ran  as  follows: 

MY  DEAK  LEN — Before  coming  here,  I  visited  Devon 
shire,  where  my  ancestors  were  born.  I  cannot  convey  to 
you  even  a  suggestion  of  the  strength  of  my  emotions  as  I 
stood  on  that  hallowed  ground. 

Please  do  not  forget  to  visit  my  house,  and  to  take  an  oc 
casional  ride  out  to  Oak  Hill.  I  would  write  you  a  long 
letter,  telling  you  all  about  my  trip,  but  I  am  too  tired; 
besides,  I  have  not  recovered  from  the  effect  of  that  rever 
ential  rush  of  memory  which  a  visit  to  this  country  must 
inevitably  bring  upon  the  man  who,  born  here,  has  long 
been  removed  from  the  scenes  of  his  infancy. 

"I  can  truthfully  say/'  said  Len,  when  he  had  shown 
the  letter  to  Ned,  "that  I  have  not  neglected  my  duty 
so  far  as  his  house  is  concerned." 

"Yes;  but  you  haven't  been  out  to  Oak  Hill  but  once." 

"That's  a  fact;  I  must  go  again.  I  think  to-morrow 
will  be  a  good  time.  "We  are  pretty  well  along  with  the 
paper,  are  we  not?" 

"Yes,  it  is  nearly  up." 

"Suppose  you  go  with  me.  "We  can  go  out  early  at 
morning  and  start  back  in  the  afternoon,  immediately 
after  the  train  comes." 

"Of  course  I  would  like  to  go  anywhere  with  you." 

"Yes,  because  it  is  your  nature  to  inspire  happiness, 
as  it  is  the  nature  of  the  sun  to  scatter  bright  beams." 

"If  it  were  not  so  easy  for  you  to  pay  graceful  compli- 


LEN  6ANSETT.  289 

xnents,  Len,  I  would  tell  you  not  to  put  yourself  to  any 
trouble  on  my  account." 

"It  is  always  easy  to  speak  the  truth,  little  girl." 

"No,  the  truth  is  often  hard  to  tell.  It  is  hard  to 
handle  because  it  is  so  strange." 

"You  aptly  take  possession  of  an  old  adage  and  make 
its  heart  circulate  the  life-blood  of  your  own  illustration. 
Will  you  come  over  to  our  house  early  to-morrow  morn 
ing,  or  shall  I  call  for  you?" 

"I  will  come  to  your  house." 

Ned  came  at  the  appaointed  time.  What  a  joyous 
ride  it  was!  There  were  no  other  passengers.  Len  had 
never  before  seen  Ned  so  frolicsome.  She  bounded  from 
from  one  seat  to  another,  happy  in  the  exuberance  of 
her  own  blithe  nature,  and  happy  in  the  thought  that 
her  liveliness  pleased  Len.  She  seemed  to  give  up  her 
soul  to  the  occasion;  she  was  at  once  a  quick-witted 
woman  and  a  delightful  child.  Every  one  who  has 
travelled  through  this  part  of  Arkansas  is  willing  to 
swear — unless  ladies  who  never  swear  except  in  cases  of 
breach  of  promise — that  the  rivers,  of  which  there  are 
many,  exceed,  in  beauty  of  margin  and  clearness  of  water, 
any  rivers  that  have  worn  their  channels  in  the  green 
footstool  of  the  great  Master  of  life.  At  a  distance  they 
seem  to  be  strips  of  pure  sky,  imbedded  in  a  setting  of 
gray,  and  when  approached  you  think  that  the  fountains 
of  the  gods  are  overflowed,  and  that  one  of  their  streams 
is  sweeping  past  you. 

"What  makes  you  so  thoughtful?"  Ned  asked  when 


290  LEN  GANSETT. 

the  stage-coach  had  descended  a  gentle  slope  into  a 
stream. 

"Am  I  silent?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  it  must  be  that  the  beauty,  the  grandeur 
through  which  we  are  passing  combine  to  deprive  me 
of  the  power  of  speech.  As  I  look  upon  this  scene/' 
waving  his  hand,  "I  think  that  I  have  never  before  been 
so  close  to  nature.  It  makes  me  realize  my  nothingness. 
"Wait  a  minute,  driver.  Don't  drive  out  until  I  tell  you."' 
He  opened  the  door  of  the  coach  and  stood  with  one 
foot  on  the  wheel. 

"Come  on/'  said  the  girl.  "You  are  so  much  in  love 
with  nature  that  I  am  jealous  of  her.  You  must  know 
that  I  am  a  woman,  and  that  everything  that  draws  your 
attention  from  me  is  my  rival." 

"Nature  is  not  your  rival,  sweet  girl,  for  nature  is 
the  stalk,  and  you  are  the  bloom." 

"Don't  talk  so  loud.    The  driver  might  hear  you." 

"He  wouldn't  know  what  we  are  talking  about  if  he 
did." 

"Don't  you  fool  yourself/'  said  the  driver,  gathering 
up  his  reins.  "I  know  all  the  fishin'-holes  along  this 
creek.  Know  where  Atkinson  put  out  his  trout-line. 
Look  out,  thar!  Get  ep!" 

A  hurried  cloud  came,  a  cloud  which  follows  a  water 
course  and  leaves  the  upland  dry,  and  rain  began  to  fall. 

"This  only  adds  comfort  to  beauty,"  said  Len,  "for  it 
brings  to  us  a  thought  of  our  own  snugness.  We  never 
know  what  comfort  is  until  some  outside  agency  im- 


LEN  GANSETT.  291 

presses  us.  I  don't  suppose,  however,  that  the  driver  is 
of  my  opinion." 

Just  then  the  stage-coach  stopped  under  the  spreading 
branches  of  a  tree.  The  driver,  descended  from  his 
lofty  perch,  placed  his  back  against  a  tree,  popped  Bis 
whip,  and  said: — 

"I've  driv  stages  a  good  deal  in  my  time,  but  this  here 
is  the  wust  country  I  ever  driv  over.  Thar  ain't  nothin' 
along  the  line  ter  int'rest  a  feller.  Wall/'  taking  his 
hat  by  the  brim  and  shaking  it,  "reckon  the  shower  is 
about  over." 

The  tourists,  after  arriving  at  Oak  Hill,  went  to  a  hotel 
"to  get  dinner.  The  sign,  held  up  by  two  saplings,  pro 
claimed  the  fact  that  the  place  was  the  New  York  Hotel. 
The  proprietor,  about  whom  everything  seemed  to  be 
yellow,  had  a  cough,  which  he  said  was  caused  by  the 
inactivity  of  his  liver.  He  had  approached  so  near  the 
grave  that  the  yellow  clay  was  on  his  feet,  yet  his  anxiety 
concerning  the  few  dimes  which  occasional  guests  drop 
ped  into  his  yellow  hand  was  so  strong  that  it  often 
seized  him  and  fiercely  shook  him.  His  wife  had 
acquired  much  flesh,  and  had  a  very  handy  way  of  box 
ing1  the  children,  of  whom  there  were  seven,  from  one 
side  of  the  room  to  the  other.  When  she  boxed  a  boy 
it  seemed  that,  recognizing  the  fact  that  she  had  boxed 
him  in  the  wrong  direction,  she  would  immediately  box 
him  back  again.  Her  life  seemed  to  be  largely  devoted 
to  the  correction  of  such  errors. 

"Jest  make  yourselves  at  home,"  said  the  landlord, 
addressing  Len  and  Ned.  "My  name  is  Miller,  yes,  and 
I  come  from  West  Tennysy.  Yes,  I've  been  here  five 


292  LEN  GANSETT. 

month.  Yes,  I  come  here  for  my  health.  My  liver  ain't 
right.  Jest  set  down  till  I  bring  some  fresh  water.  Yes, 
we've  got  putty  good  water,  but  it  don't  appear  to  do  my 
liver  no  good.  Martha,"  speaking  to  his  wife,  "don't 
you  see  Virginia  foolin'  with  the  lady's  hat?'* 

Mrs.  Miller  promptly  arose,  boxed  Virginia  in  the 
wrong  direction,  then  boxed  her  back  again.  "Now, 
1'arn  to  keep  your  ban's  off'm  things.  Don't  you  blub 
ber  an'  cry  'round  here.  Eli,"  turning  to  her  husband, 
"when  air  yer  goin'  ter  git  that  fresh  water?" 

"Eight  now,  yes."  He  soon  returned  with  a  bucket  of 
water  which  he  placed  on  the  shelf  outside  the  door. 
"Help  yourselves,"  said  he.  "Good  water,  and  I  did 
think  that  it  would  help  me,  but  it  hain't.  My  liver 
ain't  right.  How  long  mout  you  be  goin'  to  stay  with 
us?" 

"Until  after  dinner.  We  are  going  back  soon  after 
the  train  comes,"  Len  replied. 

"On  a  sort  of  a  bridal  tower,  I  reckon." 

"No." 

•  "Didn't  know  but  you  had  just  got  married  an'  come 
out  to  look  at  the  cars.  Where  do  you  live?" 

"Dogwood." 

"Way  out  thar?  W'y  that's  mighty  nigh  outen  the 
world.  Yes,  what  business  are  you  in?" 

"I  publish  the  Ticket.' " 

"Well,  I've  seed  a  copy  or  two.  What  air  you  holdin' 
it  at?" 

"Two  dollars  per  year." 

"I  would  sign  fur  it,  but  times  air  too  hard.  I  have 
a  pretty  tough  time,  specially  as  my  liver  ain't  right. 


LEN  GANSETT.  293 

Martha,  you'd  better  see  about  dinner  fur  it'll  soon  be 
train-time." 

On  the  return  there  were  several  passengers,  greatly 
to  the  disappointment  of  Len  and  Ned,  who  had  hoped 
that  no  one  would  disturb  them  in  their  enjoyment  of 
the  beautiful  rivers  and  grand  scenery.  One  of  the  pas 
sengers,  an  elderly  man,  who  travelled  for  a  well-known 
whiskey-house,  and  who,  of  course,  did  a  good  business 
all  over  Arkansas,  had  come  down  from  Missouri,  where, 
using  his  words,  a  train  had  just  been  stopped,  and  the 
passengers  "held  up"  by  robbers. 

"Were  you  on  the  train  ?"  one  of  the  passengers  asked. 

"Yes;  and  I  just  had  time  to  shove  my  watch  into  my 
boot-leg.  They  got  my  pocket-book  and  pistol." 

"Why  didn't  you  shoot  them?" 

"I  didn't  have  any  business  with  them.  Strangers 
to  me,  as  the  fellow  said.  Wonder  what  we're  stopping 
here  for?  Say,  driver,  why  don't  you  go  ahead?" 

"I've  lost  the  king-bolt." 

"You  ought  not  to  lose  king-bolts  in  this  republican 
country." 

"Not  republican,"  the  driver  replied,  looking  around. 
"Goes  democratic  every  time." 

"That's  all  right.  Say,  can't  you  dispense  with  royalty 
and  go  ahead?  I've  got  business  to  attend  to." 

"Kain't  move  a  peg  till  I  get  that  king-bolt,  or  one 
like  it.  Thar's  a  blacksmith  shop  about  a  mile  from 
here,  an'  you'll  hafter  wait  till  I  ken  go  thar  an'  have 
a  bolt  made.  Mighty  sorry,'  but  it's  as  hard  on  me  as  it 
is  on  any  o'  the  rest  o'  yer.  Here's  a  nice  place  for  a 


294  LEN  GANSETT. 

picnic,  an'  yer'd  better  commence  ter  make  yerselves  at 
home.  What  time  have  yer  got,  cap'n?" 

The  whiskey-drummer  took  out  his  watch,  held  it  in 
the  palm  of  his  hand,  glanced  at  it,  closed  it  with  a  snap, 
returned  it  to  its  place,  looked  about  him,  and  then 
said,  "Three  fifteen." 

The  driver  hurried  away,  and  the  passengers  proceeded 
to  make  the  best  of  their  situation.  They  sat  under  the 
trees,  listening  to  the  whiskey-man,  whose  stories  were 
much  older  than  his  liquors,  but  whose  stock  on  hand 
seemed  to  be  inexhaustible.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to 
repeat  jokes  which  he  had  heard  at  minstrel  shows, — 
actually  said  that  he  had  two  birds,  one  named  Wheeler 
and  the  other  Wilson,  because  neither  one  of  them  was 
a  singer.  This  atrocity  merited  the  severest  punish 
ment.  One  man,  who  looked  like  a  preacher  by  the  ex 
pression  of  his  countenance,  but  like  a  sinner  by  the  ex 
pression  of  his  mouth,  sighed  wearily,  and  said: — 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  Parker,  let  up!  You  are  enough 
to  give  a  man  the  jim-jams." 

Len  and  Ned  strolled  through  the  woods.  To  them 
the  delay  was  not  tiresome,  for  it  liberated  them  from  a 
company  in  which  they  took  no  interest.  It  must  have 
been  at  least  five  o'clock  when  the  driver  blew  his  horn 
to  summon  his  scattered  passengers. 

"King-bolt's  all  right,  eh?"  said  the  whiskey-man,  as 
he  got  into  the  coach. 

"Reckon  it'll  stay  with  us  a  while,"  the  driver  replied, 
as  he  shut  the  door. 

The  lengthening  shadows,  creeping  down  into  ihe  ra 
vines  lent  a  gloomy  grandeur  to  the  rocks,  and  the 


LEN  QANSETT.  295 

streams  seemed  to  run  with  more  noise  now  that  the 
night  drew  near. 

"This  country  may  do  for  the  long-haired  and  wild- 
eyed  poet/'  said  the  drummer,  "but  it  won't  do  for  your 
Uncle  Fuller,"  meaning  himself.  "Your  Uncle  Fuller 
can  put  up  with  a  good  deal,  but  his  endurance  has  its 
boundary  lines.  Suppose  those  horses  were  to  get  scared 
and  run  off  down  there.  It  would  give  your  Uncle  Ful 
ler  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  take  care  of  the  ladies. 
You  live  out  here  somewhere,  eh?"  addressing  Len. 

"Yes,  at  Dogwood." 

"Dogwood,  that's  a  curious  name  for  a  town.  By  the 
way,  they  call  a  tree  dogwood,  because  it  has  so  much 
bark,  don't  they?  Ha,  haw,  haw!  By  George!  that's 
good,  eh,  Elliot?" 

The  person  addressed  began  to  snore  as  though  the 
atrocious  pun  had  put  him  to  sleep. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  the  drummer,  reaching  over 
and  placing  his  hand  on  Len's  shoulder,  "you  publish  a 
paper,  I  believe." 

"Yes." 

"I  am  glad  I  met  you.  I  have  seen  a  lot  of  stuff 
copied  from  your  paper,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
you  are  welcome  to  any  of  my  gags.  In  St.  Louis  the 
newspaper  men  follow  me  around  and  take  down  what  I 
say;  don't  they,  Elliot?" 

"I  have  heard  you  say  so,"  Elliot  replied. 

"Oh,  well,  you  know  it's  a  fact.  By  George!  it's  as 
dark  out  there  as  an  umbrella  full  of  black  cats  in  Egypt. 
What  are  you  stopping  for?  Lost  another  member  of 
the  royal  family?" 


296  LEN  GANSETT. 

Both  doors  of  the  stage-coach  were  violently  thrown 
open. 

"Throw  up  your  hands!"  a  deep  voice  demanded,  and 
then  a  blinding  flash  from  a  dark  lantern  fell  upon  the 
passengers.  The  women  shrieked,  and  for  a  moment 
there  was  such  commotion  that  business  was  much 
retarded.  Parker,  the  man  of  "gags,"  tried  to  crouch, 
down  under  a  shawl  which  some  one  had  dropped. 

"Stop  howlin'  an'  come  to  bus'ness,"  said  the  man 
who  had  the  dark  lantern.  "No  use  'n  tryin'  ter  whup 
the  devil  round  the  stump.  What  air  you  doin'  down 
thar?"  pulling  the  shawl  off  and  revealing  the  cramped 
form  of  Mr.  Parker.  "Come,  shell  out!" 

"I  have  nothing  to  shell/'  Len  good-humoredly  re 
plied. 

"Git  out,  all  of  you!  This  is  too  slow  a  way.  Don't 
be  frightened.  We  ain't  goin'  to  hurt  nobody." 

The  passengers,  having  recovered  their  self -possession, 
got  out,  and,  as  ordered,  held  up  their  hands. 

"You  are  not  a  big  prize;  still,  you  are  worth  some 
thing  these  close-fisted  times,"  the  leading  robber  re 
marked  as  he  relieved  Len  of  three  dollars  in  silver. 
"No  watch,  eh?  Here's  one,"  proceeding  to  relieve  the 
whiskey-drummer  of  his  timepiece.  "You  cheated  me 
out  of  it  the  other  night.  Met  you  on  a  train  in  Mis 
souri,  you  know." 

Ned  stood  near  Len,  with  one  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
One  of  the  robbers  came  along,  looked  at  her  and  tap 
ped  her  under  the  chin,  and,  with  a  blow  as  quick  as  a 
flash  of  powder,  Len  knocked  him  down. 

"What  the  devil  air  you  doin'!"  exclaimed  the  leader, 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  297 

turning  upon  Len.  "Another  caper  like  that,  and  you'll 
regret  it — ef  you  can." 

"I  don't  object  to  givin'  up  what  money  I  have,"  Len 
quietly  replied;  "but  neither  you  nor  your  ruffians  must 
take  liberties  with  a  lady  whose  protector  I  am  proud 
to  be." 

"That's  all  right.  Get  back  in  the  box.  "Wish  you  had 
as  much  money  as  you  have  grit.  Bill,  got  the  express 
package  all  right  ?  Sorry  we  had  to  knock  the  driver  off 
his  seat.  See  if  he's  hurt  much." 

Some  time  elapsed  before  the  coach  started.  The 
driver  had  been  violently  knocked  from  his  box.  Parker 
took  out  a  sample  bottle  of  his  goods,  induced  the  driver 
to  drink, — not  a  difficult  task,  however, — and  succeeded 
in  so  far  restoring  him  that  he  was  soon  afterward  able 
to  gather  up  his  lines  and  resume  the  journey. 

"Parker,"  said  Elliot,  "will  you  please  tell  us  what 
time  it  is?" 

"Never  mind,"  Parker  replied;  "I'll  get  that  watch 
again,  see  if  I  don't." 

"How  will  you  get  it?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly,  but  I'll  get  it  again.  I  think 
I  know  that  robber.  He's  a  St.  Louis  pawn-broker. 
Mind  what  I  tell  you.  Well,  as  the  fellow  said  when  he 
had  nothing  more  to  lose,  we're  safe  now.  How  far  are 
we  from  Catnip,  Mr.  Editor?" 

"Catnip?" 

"Yes,  the  place  where — oh,  beg  your  pardon,  I  mean 
Dogwood." 

"We  are  now  entering  the  suburbs." 

"Glad." 


298  LEN  GANSETT. 

After  nearly  an  hour  had  passed  Parker  said, 
"Thought  we  were  entering  the  suburbs  of  that  fleeting 
village?" 

"We  are." 

"Well,  how  far  do  the  suburbs  extend?" 

"All  over  the  country." 

"Sorry." 

Dogwood  was  thrown  into  a  thrilling  state  of  excite 
ment  immediately  after  the  arrival  of  the  stage.  The 
sheriff  summoned  a  posse  and  started  in  search  of  the 
robbers, — a  useless  exercise  of  horse-flesh.  Justice,  so 
long  delayed,  was  slowly  approaching,  but  not  through 
the  agency  of  the  officers  of  the  law. 


LEN  QMSETT.  299 


XXXI. 

THE  sheriff  and  his  posse  returned,  the  usual  reward 
was  offered,  and  then  there  came  that  quiet,  the  pro- 
foundest  of  all  quiet, — the  quiet  which  follows  an  excite 
ment  in  a  cross-roads  village. 

"I  don't  feel  very  well  to-day,  and  I  have  decided  to 
give  myself  an  extra  allowance  of  exercise,"  Len  re 
marked  one  morning,  when,  arriving  at  the  office,  he 
glanced  at  a  distasteful  task.  "I  shall  probably  be  away 
all  day,  Ned,  so  I  leave  the  office  in  your  charge.  If  the 
fighting  man  from  the  head-waters  should  come  in,  tell 
.  him  that  Collins  has  agreed  to  attend  to  him/' 

"Where  are  you  going?"  the  girl  asked. 

"I  am  going  to  stroll,  it  makes  no  difference  in  which 
direction.  I  feel  that  my  future  usefulness  depends  up 
on  my  going  into  the  woods  to-day." 

Len  wandered  away,  caring  but  little  whither  he 
went.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  thought  of 
returning,  he  was  astonished  upon  realization  that  he 
had  lost  all  idea  of  direction.  "This  is  a  pretty  come 
off,"  he  mused.  "Can't  take  a  walk  without  getting 
lost."  He  came  upon  a  brook  which  he  thought  was 
one  along  whose  banks  he  had  walked  an  hour  before; 
but,  after  pursuing  it  some  time,  he  found  that  he  was 
wrong.  He  sat  down  to  rest,  and,  wearied  with  much 
exertion,  dropped  off  to  sleep.  When  he  awoke  the  sun 
was  setting.  "This  is  getting  to  be  serious,"  he  said,  as 
he  resumed  his  devious  journey.  "If  I  don't  come  on 


300  LEN  GANSETT. 

time  grandpa  will  alarm  the  neighborhood.  Helloa! 
yonder  is  a  road.  I  know  where  I  am  now/'  he  gladly 
exclaimed.  "This  is  the  Oak  Hill  road,  but  I  am  a  long 
ways  from  home." 

He  walked  along  briskly.    Evening  insects  began  their  ^ 
grating  songs,  and  a  night-hawk,  emancipated  from  the 
glaring  eye  of  day,  alighted  on  the  dead  snag  of  a  tree 
and  screamed  in  revenge. 

"Helloa,  what's  this?"  he  said,  stopping  and  taking  up 
a  piece  of  rope  about  fifteen  feet  in  length.  "Some  man 
lost  this  off  his  hay-wagon,"  he  added,  noticing  wisps  of 
hay  hanging  on  the  branches  above  him,  "and  by  this 
time  is  arraigning  his  ill-luck  before  a  blue  bar  of  pro 
fanity.  I'll  take  it  along.  Can't  afford  to  lose  such  an 
opportunity  of  proving  to  grandpa  that  I  have  an  eye  for 
the  useful  in  life." 

He  quickened  his  pace  as  the  darkness  deepened. 
Sometimes  the  road  wound  among  thick  undergrowth, 
into  those  damp  and  gloomy  places  which  impress  the 
strongest  heart  with  a  sense  of  dread;  then  it  seemed 
to  crawl  around  a  steep  hillside,  just  able  to  find  room 
to  stretch  itself.  Just  as  Len  reached  a  "cut,"  where 
one  side  of  the  road  was  bordered  by  high  and  detached 
rocks,  he  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs,  rattling  along 
the  flinty  pass  a  short  distance  ahead  of  him.  He  stopped 
involuntarily  and  listened.  The  horses  were  approaching 
him.  Moved  by  a  sudden  impulse — an  impulse  which  he 
did  not  understand,  but  with  which  he  did  not  stop  to 
argue — he  climbed  up  a  short  distance  and  stood  behind 
a  large  rock  that  had  rolled  down  from  a  cliff  above. 
Scarcelv  had  he  taken  his  hidden  stand  when  two  horse- 


LEN  GANSETT.  301 

mea  dashed  around  a  bend  in  the  road  and  stopped 
opposite  him. 

"Say,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "I'll  remain  here  until 
you  ride  out  and  meet  the  boys.  Tell  them  three  is  no 
particular  danger  now,  and  that  we  will  go  back  to 
Missouri  to-morrow.  Get  back  as  soon  as  you  can,  for 
we  have  business  before  us." 

These  words  were  spoken  in  a  low  tone,  but  Len's 
eager  ear  caught  every  one  of  them.  One  of  the  men 
rode  on  as  directed,  the  other  remained  in  the  road  only 
a  few  feet  from  Len.  "I  think  that  my  cow-boy  exper 
ience  will  now  serve  me  a  good  turn,"  Gansett  mused, 
and  instantly  his  fingers  began  to  make  a  lariat  of  the 
rope.  He  was  not  in  the  least  excited;  his  only  feeling 
was  of  quiet  exultation.  "I  can't  miss  him,"  he  thought, 
"and  if  I  succeed  in  getting  the  rope  well  down  over  his 
arms  his  weapons  will  be  of  no  use  to  him." 

"Whoa!"  said  the  man,  speaking  to  his  horse.  The 
animal,  in  reaching  after  the  leaves  of  the  vines  grow 
ing  in  the  scanty  soil,  had  moved  nearer  the  rock  behind 
which  Gansett  was  standing.  "Whoa,  I  tell  you!" 

Len  stood  ready,  but  waited.  He  could  plainly  see 
the  outlines  of  the  horseman,  but  fancied  that  one  of 
his  hands  was  raised.  Yes,  it  was.  He  had  taken- off 
his  hat,  and  was  passing  one  hand  over  his  head. 

Len  noiselessly  moved  to  one  side,  to  give  his  arms 
more  play,  and,  with  a  skill  which  a  professional  cattle 
man  might  hav€  admired,  threw  the  rope.  Then,  with 
his  entire  weight  thrown  against  the  rope,  he  sprang 
from  behind  the  rock.  The  horse,  jumped;  the  man, 
uttering  a  loud  cry,  fell  to  the  ground.  The  daring  cap- 


302  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

ture  was  effected  in  a  moment.  Len,  without  relaxing 
the  rope,  but  following  it  hand  over  hand,  soon  reached 
his  prisoner.  The  man  did  not  stir  after  striking  the 
ground.  He  was  stunned,  perhaps  killed;  but  Gansett, 
determined  to  take  no  chances,  wound  the  rope  about 
the  man,  turned  him  over  on  his  breast  and  tied  his 
hands.  His  next  move  was  an  attempt  to  secure  the 
horse,  but  the  animal  galloped  away.  Knowing  that 
the  riderless  horse,  should  he  be  discovered  by  any  of  the 
gang,  would  spread  alarm,  Gansett  dragged  the  insensi 
ble  man  down  into  the  ravine.  Then,  straightening 
him  out,  he  took  two  pistols  from  the  outlaw's  belt  and 
laid  them  on  the  ground.  The  man  groaned. 

"You  are  coming  around  all  right,"  said  Len.  "Who 
are  you,  anyway?" 

No  reply. 

"If  I  only  had  a  match  I'd  study  your  features  awhile. 
Probably  you've  got  one.  Let  me  see.  Yes,  you  are 
well  provided." 

Just  as  he  was  about  to  strike  a  match  he  heard  the 
sound  of  hoofs,  and,  catching  up  the  two  pistols,  he 
hurried  back  to  the  road  and  secreted  himself.  Two 
men  galloped  past.  Len  levelled  one  of  the  pistols  and 
fired.  The  gallop  was  quickened  into  a  wild  dash,  and 
then  all  was  still. 

"I  don't  think  it  is  safe  to  strike  matches  in  this 
neighborhood  at  present,"  he  mused.  "I  think  I'd  bet 
ter  go  back  to  my  prisoner  and  wait  a  while." 

When  he  returned  he  found  that  the  outlaw  had  not 
changed  his  position,  but  that  he  exhibited  signs  of  life 
by  breathing  heavily. 


LEN  GANSETT.  303 

"Who  are  you?"  Len  again  asked. 

No  reply. 

Len  sat  down  with  his  back  against  a  tree  and  waited, 
but  his  anxiety  to  see  the  man's  face  became  so  strong 
that  he  became  restless  and  impatient. 

"I'll  try  one  match,  anyway." 

He  approached  the  prisoner,  who  lay  on  his  back,  and 
struck  a  match,  but  it  fell  from  his  trembling  hand. 
He  tried  to  calm  himself,  but  could  not.  He  thought 
of  the  foolishness  of  becoming  excited  after  the  dan 
gerous  work  had  been  accomplished,  but  to  no  purpose. 
He  struck  another  match.  The  man  mumbled  some 
thing,  but  Len  paid  no  attention  to  him.  The  match 
blazed.  Gansett  held  it  near  the  man's  face. 

"Great  God!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  dropping 
the  match  and  springing  to  his  feet.  "Great  God,  it  is 
Colonel  Bently!" 

Len,  placing  his  hand  against  a  tree,  steadied  himself 
for  a  moment,  then  slowly  sank  down,  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  He  broke  out  in  a  cold  prespiration, 
and  his  frame  shook  as  though  seized  with  ague.  The 
night  wore  away,  still  the  silence  was  unbroken  save  by 
the  night-hawk,  which,  realizing  the  near  approach  of 
the  eye  of  day,  screamed  in  revenge. 

"Gansett,"  said  the  colonel,  "untie  me." 

"No." 

"Gansett,  I  appeal  to  your  sense  of  gratitude,  to  your 
sympathy,  to  your  humanity." 

"No." 

"Kemember  that  you  owe  your  happiness  to  me.     I 


304  LEN 

placed  you  in  your  present  position,  and  I  kept  Honey- 
cut  from  forcibly  marrying  Miss  Hobdy." 

"No." 

"Is  it  possible,  Len,  that  I  appeal  to  you  in  vain?" 

"Yes.  The  Colonel  Bently  whom  I  knew,  admired, 
loved,  is  in  England.  You  are  an  outlaw,  and  perhaps 
a  murderer." 

"I  swear  that  I  am  not." 

"The  devil  swore  that  he  was  holy." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your  inhumanity— your 
cowardice.  You  lurk  in  the  woods  like  a  savage,  and 
lasso  a  man  like  a  sneak." 

"And  you  ride  in  the  woods  like  a  thief,  and  rob 
people  like  a  ruffian." 

"I'll  pay  you  for  this.  Come,  Len,  don't  harden  your 
heart  against  me.  No  matter  how  much  of  an  outlaw  I 
am,  I  have  never  done  aught  against  you." 

"Yes,  you  have,"  Len  exclaimed,  violently  striking 
his  breast.  "You  have  injured  me  more  than  you  have 
injured  all  your  victims  combined.  '  You  have  shaken 
my  faith  in  man.  I  have  passed  through  many  trials, 
but  until  I  held  a  match  over  your  face  my  faith  in 
man  remained  unshaken.  The  robber  and  the  assassin, 
the  thief  and  the  liar,  all  of  whom  I  have  seen,  only 
strengthen  my  belief  that  there  did  exist  a  noblest  work 
of  God,  but  you — you  have  stabbed  that  ennobling 
faith." 

"Gansett,  you  are  too  hard  on  me;  so  hard  that  you 
forget  your  obligations.  Eemember  that  the  printing- 
office—  " 

"I  don't  owe  you  a  cent.    I  have  paid  the  last  note." 


LEN  OANSETT.  305 

"Very  true,  but  the  fact  that  I  did  not  push  you 
should  inspire  gratitude.  Len,  I  cannot  help  but  like 
you,  cannot  help  admiring  your  manliness,  but  there  is 
an  honor,  a  manliness,  that  arises  above  all  law.  I  now 
appeal  to  that  honor  and  manliness  and  in  the  name 
of  human  friendship  I  ask  you  to  untie  me.  I  will  leave 
this  neighborhood,  never  to  return.  News  shall  come, 
stating  that  I  died  in  England,  and  there  shall  also  come 
a  will  bequeathing  my  farm  and  stage  line  to  you.  For 
God's  sake,  Len,  do  not  turn  away  from  me!  Honey  cut 
shall  disappear,  never  to  return,  and  you  and  the  woman 
whom  you  love  can  live  in — " 

"By  the  way,  colonel/'  Len  interposed,  "did  you  find 
much  change  in  your  old  home?  I  fear  that  my  letter 
will  not  reach  you.  Pity,  too,  for  I  told  how  much  we 
all  missed  you,  and  how  warm  my  friendship  was.  I 
told  you  many  things  that  I  could  not  tell  during  a  con 
versation.  The  sun  is  fairly  up.  Will  you  walk  to  Dog 
wood  with  me,  or  shall  I  leave  you  here  until  I  get  a 
wagon?" 

"I'll  remain  here/' 

"All  right.  Permit  me  to  tie  you  more  securely,  anfl 
to  gag  you,  lest  you  injure  yourself  by  shouting." 

"You  are  heartless,  Gansett." 

"Yes,  quite  so." 

"I'll  walk  with  you/' 

"Then  I  will  untie  your  legs,  but  let  your  arms 
remain  as  they  are." 

"D — d  wretch!"  the  colonel  muttered. 

"Yes,  decidedly  so.    Ah,  a  happy  thought!    I'll  drive 


306  LEN 

you  as  I  would  a  calf,  but  if  you  become  boisterous  I'll 
shoot  you  as  I  would  a  dog." 

When  they  reached  Dogwood  the  people  became  much 
excited;  but,  to  Len's  surprise,  Bently  attempted  no  de 
fence  of  himself.  He  was  taken  to  jail  and  locked  up, 
and,  lest  a  rescue  might  be  attempted,  a  strong  guard 
was  stationed  around  the  house.  Just  as  Len  and  the 
sheriff  were  turning  away  from  the  jail  a  man  rode  up 
and  said,  "Gentlemen,  I've  got  a  piece  uv  news.  Las' 
night  as  Honeycut  wuz  ridin'  erlong  over  here  nigh  Tar- 
rapin  branch  somebody  shot  him.  He  galloped  away, 
an'  didn't  know  he  wuz  hurt  bad  till  he  reached  home. 
Ball  sorter  went  in  behind  his  shoulder,  an'  'peered  ter 
range  round.  Ther  doctor  don't  think  he'll  live." 

The  sheriff,  to  whom  Len  had  told  his  story,  said, 
"Mr.  Gansett,  that  powder  wasn't  wasted." 

"No,  I  think  not.  Do  you  think  that  there  is  likely 
to  be  an  attempt  to  liberate  Bently?" 

"Not  by  the  citizens,  for  you  see  they  air  as  hot  as  the 
devil  ag'in  him,  but  some  o'  the  gang  mout  dash  in. 
You've  done  noble  work,  and  the  reward — " 

"I  wouldn't  touch  a  cent  of  it  for  the  world." 

<fWall,  but  it  has  to  go  to  somebody.  Me  and  the 
boys  rid  mighty  hard — " 

"You  and  the  boys,  then,  may  have  the  reward." 

"Now  you're  talkin'.  Look  at  the  folks,  will  you? 
Oh,  but  they've  got  a  sensation  now  that'll  last  'em  for 
a  day  or  two.  Helloa,  Mr.  Collins!"  addressing  the 
printer,  who  came  forward.  "We've  got  him,  after  all." 

"So  I  hear.    Mr.  Gansett,  if  you  want  to  say  anything 


LEN  GANSETT.  307 

about  it  in  our  next  issue  it  is  time  to  begin,  specially 
as  we  are  about  out  of  copy/' 

"Collins,  I  don't  know  how  to  write  it  up.  You  do 
it.  Say  that  he  was  captured  by  a  man  connected  with 
the  Ticket/  but  don't  give  any  of  the  particulars." 

"Let  me  interview  the  colonel?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Gansett,"  said  the  sheriff,  "let  us  interview 
the  colonel,  and  pVaps  he'll  tell  how  hard  he  had  to 
ride  to  keep  out  of  our  way  t'other  night." 

"Do  as  you  think  best,  Collins,"  Len  replied.  "Has 
Miss  Hobdy  come  yet?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she's  in  the  office.  She's  heard  all  about 
it." 

Len  hurried  to  the  office.  When  he  entered  ISTed 
burst  into  tears  and  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 
"There,  little  girl,  don't  cry.  It's  all  over." 

"But  I  am  not  a  little  girl  if  I  can  reach  up  this  way," 
pulling  his  head  down  and  kissing  him.  "Sit  down  and 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

He  related  his  story.  Her  eyes  sparkled  and  her 
breathing  grew  faster.  "You  are  the  bravest  and  smart 
est  man  in  the  world,"  she  said  when  he  had  concluded. 
"By  the  way,  I  had  to  tell  a  little  story  for  you.  I  told 
your  grandpa  that  you  might  not  be  home  until  late, 
and  then,  I  don't  know  why,  I  said  you  would  probably 
be  away  all  night." 

News  spreads  rapidly  in  the  country.  Men  who  are 
the  slowest  on  the  farm  are  sometimes  the  fastest  on  the 
road.  Old  Bob  and  his  wife  met  Len  at  the  gate.  They 
were  mucl-  excited,  particularly  Mrs.  Gansett,  who  loudly 
thanked  the  Lord  that  her  grandson  was  safe.  At  the 


308  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

breakfast-table  Len  gave  a  detailed  account  of  his  ad 
venture. 

"Bob,"  said  Mrs.  Gansett,  as  she  seized  a  peach-tree 
branch  and  vigorously  waved  off  the  flies,  "didn't  I  tell 
you  that  the  colonel  wouldn't  do?  Hah,  didn't  I  tell 
you?" 

"Well,  now,  Sarah,  I  don't  'zactly  recollect  whether — " 
"Yes,  you  do,  an'  you  know  it.  Don't  you  know  one 
evenin'  when  Len  went  home  with  him,  I  said  I  didn't 
like  the  idea?  Yes,  you  do  know  it.  I  have  allus  had 
my  suspicions  o'  that  man,  an'  I  knowed  jes'  as  well  as 
I  ever  knowed  anythin'  that  he  would  come  to  some  bad 
eend.  It's  a  mighty  easy  matter  to  fool  yo'  grandpa, 
Len,  but  it's  hard  to  fool  me.  I  knowed  it — knowed  it 
as  well  as  anythin'  that  thar  was  suthin'  wrong  with  that 
man.  I  reckon — fetch  take  the  flies,  they  stick  so;  it 
mus'  sho'ly  be  goin'  to  rain — the  next  time  you'll  all 
pay  attention  to  what  I  say." 


LEN  GANSETT.  3Q9 


XXXII. 

THE  excitement  throughout  the  neighborhood  became 
more  and  more  intense.  T»he  people,  realizing  that  their 
social  leader  had  fallen,  bitterly  meditating  the  length 
of  time  they  had  been  duped  by  him,  surrendered  them 
selves  to  that  condition  of  fury  which  is  the  sprouting- 
ground,  the  plantbed,  of  mob  violence;  but  the  good 
sense  of  a  few  old  men,  and  notably  the  good  sense  of 
Bob  Gansett,  restrained  a  general  demand  for  vengence. 
The  prosecuting  attorney  of  the  district  soon  arrived. 
He  called  at  the  "Picket"  office,  and,  during  a  conver 
sation  with  Len,  said: — 

"You  have  undoubtedly  accomplished  a  good  piece  of 
work,  but  you  ran  a  great  risk.  In  truth,  you  did  not  act 
very  wisely.  Any  number  of  honest  men — fox-hunters 
— ride  through  the  woods  at  night,  and  while  your  step 
ping  behind  the  rock  proves  to  be  fortunate,  yet  you  did 
not  hear  the  men  say  enough  to  convince  you  that  they 
were  indeed  robbers." 

"That  is  a  fact,"  Lqn  replied.  "I  acknowledge  that 
I  was  rash." 

"And  again,"  continued  the  prosecuting  attorney, 
"when  you  went  back  to  the  road,  upon  hearing  the 
sound  of  hoofs  you  fired  at  two  men,  who  might  have 
been  a  physician  and  some  one  who  had  been  hurriedly 
sent  after  him." 

"Great  Caesar,  man!"  Len  exclaimed;  don't  make  me 
out  to  be  a  fool." 


310  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Of  course  not;  but  these  facts  will  be  far  from  com 
forting  when  the  counsel  for  the  defence  enlarges  upon 
them,  especially  so  if  the  defendants  invent  a  clever 
story,  which  they  will  evidently  do." 

"A  clever  story  amounts  to  but  little  in  the  face  of  a 
fact.  I  have  a  letter  from  Bently,  purporting  to  have 
been  written  in  England,  and — '' 

"Yes,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  nodding  in 
ironical  approval;  "but  you  must  know  that  the  colonel 
could  reach  this  neighborhood  quite  as  soon  as  the  let 
ter." 

"That's  a  fact,  but  I  don't  believe  he  has  been  to 
England." 

"Of  course  not;  but  don't  you  know  that  the  letter  is 
against  us,  proving  that  the  colonel  was  abroad  when 
a  certain  robbery  was  committed?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

"I  suppose  not.  Now,  Mr.  Gansett,  you'd  better  de 
stroy  that  letter." 

"No,  I  shall  keep  it." 

"But  I  tell  you  that  they  will  use  it- against  us." 

"All  right;  let  them  use  it." 

"I  say  no." 

"I  say  yes,  for  I  do  not  intend  to  throw  a  single  ob 
stacle  in  the  colonel's  way." 

"Mr.  Gansett,  you  are  certainly  a  very  hot-headed 
and  impulsive  young  man." 

"Well,  I  can't  help  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can  help  it.  Have  you  seen  the  fellow 
you  shot?" 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  3}  i 

"No,  not  since  he  passed  me  like  the  flying  shadow 
of  a  wolf." 

"Sentiment,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  hiting 
off  a  chew  of  tohacco.  "Sentiment  and  law,  though,  are 
like  castor-oil  and  rose-water, — won't  mix.  Let  us  go 
over  and  see — what's  his  name?" 

"Who,  Honeycut?" 

"Yes,  and  take  a  justice  of  the  peace  with  us  to  attest 
his  confession." 

"How  do  you  know  he  will  confess?" 

"Oh,  he  must;  that's  all." 

Accompanied  by  a  magistrate,  they  went  to  Honey- 
cut's  house,  a  small  cabin  situated  on  a  rugged  hillside 
about  a  mile  from  Bently's  house.  The  wounded  man, 
cared  for  by  the  family  who  lived  in  the  house,  did  not 
appear  to  be  in  immediate  danger;  but  the  prosecuting 
attorney,  who  took  care  not  to  reveal  his  connection 
with  the  law,  but  who  slyly  intimated  that  he  was  a 
skilled  surgeon  from  a  distant  town,  soon  convinced 
Honeycut  that  his  case  was  hopeless. 

"Mr.  Gulp,"  said  Len,  addressing  the  lawyer,  "let  me 
see  you  outside  a  moment."  When  Gulp  had  followed 
him,  Gansett  added,  "I  don't  want  you  to  take  any  ad 
vantage  of  that  fellow." 

"Now,  look  here,  my  dear  sir,  for  God's  sake  don't 
make  a  fool  of  yourself!  I  tell  you  that  sentiment  and 
law  won't  mix." 

"It  is  not  so  much  sentiment  as  it  is  justice  that — " 

"Yes,  I  know  all  about  that.  Let  me  tell  you  some 
thing.  I  strongly  suspect  that  Mr.  Honeycut  murdered 
a  man  in  this  county  some  years  ago;  in  fact,  he  has 


312  LEN  GANSETT. 

muttered  certain  words  that  lead  to  this  belief.  Suppose 
he  gets  well  and  is  convicted  of  robbery?  He  will  be 
sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  a  few  years,  and — " 

"You  are  right,"  said  Len. 

"Of  course  I  am.    Just  come  in  and  keep  quiet." 

Honey  cut  became  very  restless.  He  was  much  fright 
ened,  and  when  Gulp  took  a  small  Bible  from  his  pocket, 
and  began  to  read  a  passage  luridly  descriptive  of  hell, 
the  wretch  groaned  aloud. 

"I  am  not  a  preacher,"  said  Mr.  Gulp,  "but  I  have  been 
taught  by  good  men  that  there  is  a  way  of  avoiding  this 
place,  no  matter  how  dark  a  crime  a  man  may  have  com 
mitted.  It  is  an  awful  thing,  my  dear  Mr.  Honeycut,  to 
be  hurled  into  eternity  without  having  prepared  yourself. 
Oh,  if  you  desire  to  die  with  a  dark  stain  on  your  mind, 
all  right,"  he  added,  as  Honeycut  turned  his  face  away. 

"'I  don't  wanter  die  thater  way." 

"It  appears  that  you  do." 

"But  I  don't,  I  tell  you." 

"That  may  be,  but  you  are  going  to  put  it  off  till  it's 
too  late." 

"No,  I  ain't  nuther." 

"Then  why  don't  you  tell  me  that  you  murdered  a 
man?" 

"Who  said  I  did?" 

"Well,  that's  all  right.  Men  sometimes  talk  in  their 
sleep." 

"Yas,  an'  they  sometimes  tell  lies  in  their  sleep." 

"But  more  often  when  they  are  awake,"  the  lawyer 
added. 

"How  long  do  you  think  I'll  live?" 


LEN  G AN  SETT.  313 

"Perhaps  until  this  evening." 

Honeycut  groaned.  "Look  here/'  said  he,  "er  lawyer 
that  Colonel  Bently  sent  over  here  told  me  not  to  say 
nothin'  ter  nobody." 

"Of  course  that  lawyer  is  much  more  interested  in  his 
fee  than  he  is  in  your  soul." 

"I  don't  know  erbout  that.  Gansett,  what  did  you 
come  here  fur?  To  see  me  die?" 

"Not  particularly." 

"Yas,  like  hell  yer  didn't.  See  er  man  ridin'  'long 
ther  road  at  night  an'  shoot  him  fur  nuthin'.  Yer  ought 
ter  be  hung  fur  it." 

"How  do  you  know  I  shot  you?" 

"Never  mind;  I  know  all  erbout  it,  but  I  won't  say 
nuthin'." 

The  lawyer,  turning  to  the  justice  of  the  peace,  said, 
in  an  undertone,  but  loud  enough  for  Honeycut  to  hear: 
"Did  that  nigger  say  he'd  have  the  grave  ready  in  time?" 

"Yes;  he's  at  work  on  it  now." 

"Keckon,  then,  it  will  be  ready." 

"What  did  you  say?"  Honeycut  asked. 

"Nothing,"  the  lawer  replied. 

"Yas,  yer  did,"  he  moaned.  "Said  suthin'  erbout  er 
grave." 

"Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  your  grave  is  being  dug, 
and  by  this  time  they  are  smoothing  down  your  lowly 
pillow.  Ready  to  go,  gentlemen?" 

"Hold  on,"  said  Honeycut.  His  voice  had  become 
weak  and  his  breath  was  difficut.  "I  don't  wanter  die 
thiser  way." 


314  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Don't  do  it.  Put  your  faith  in  the  great  Pleader  for 
man — in  the  great  Forgiver  of  sin." 

"I  did  kill  a  man  wunst." 

"Yes?" 

"But  I'm  sorry  fur  it." 

"What  was  his  name?" 

"Jim  Buck.  Him  an'  Hobdy  had  had  some  trouble, 
an'  he  wanted  me  ter  go  in  with  him  an'  kill  Hobdy.  I 
said  I  would,  but  airterwards  backed  out.  Then  he  said 
ef  I  didn't  help  him  he'd  norate  it  round  that  I  got  up 
the  scheme.  This  skeered  me,  an'  I  thought  the  bes* 
thing  I  could  do  wuz  ter  kill  Buck,  so  one  day  I  followed 
him  an'  killed  him.  I  sarched  his  pockets  arter  he  fell 
an'  found  er  note  that  Hobdy  had  writ  him.  I  jes'  could 
spell  it  out,  but  I  seed  how  'portant  a  dockyment  it  wuz. 
Pretty  soon  I  seed  Hobdy  er-comin',  an'  I  hid,  an'  then 
come  out  on  him  when  he  stopped  ter  look  *at  Buck." 

"What  about  your  connection  with  the  robberies  that 
have  been  committed  in  this  State  and  Missouri?" 

"I  oughten  ter  say  nothin'  erbout  that,  fur  it  consarns 
somebody  else." 

"Wall,  I  went  in  with  ther  colonel.  He  wuz  sich  a 
good  friend  ter  me  that  I  told  him  that  I  killed  Buck. 
Then  he  had  me.  Ther  stage-driver  an*  er  feller  named 
Price  wuz  in  ter  it  too." 

The  confession  was  written  by  the  justice  of  the 
peace — who,  strange  to  say,  could  write  legibly — and  was 
signed  by  Honeycut. 

"Now  we  are  all  right,"  said  the  lawyer,  as  the  party 
set  out  for  Dogwood.  "The  confession  fixes  everything. 
Let  us  take  a  short  cut  if  there  is  one,  for  I've  got  con- 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  315 

siderable  work  to  do  to-day.  Gansett,  I  have  been 
solicited  to  run  for  judge  at  the  next  election,  and  I'd 
like  your  support.  Those  who  know  me  best  say  that  I 
am  well  qualified  for  the  place,  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  believe  that  I  am.  I  understand  the  law,  and  I  think 
that  I  know  what  justice  is.  Helloa,  who  is  the  gentle 
man?" 

"His  name  is  Braley,"  Len  replied. 

"Hy,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Braley,  approaching  and 
placing  a  tow  sack  on  a  log.  The  party  stopped,  and  the 
lawyer  was  introduced  to  the  champion  log-roller. 

"What  have  you  in  your  sack,  Braley?"  Len  asked. 

"Er  middlin'  uv  meat,  that  I  got  over  at  Bradshaw's. 
He'p'd  him  to  fix  up  his  gin  t'other  day,  an'  he  told  me 
when  I  wanted  anythin'  ter  let  him  know,  an'  this 
mornin'  wife  she  'lowed  that  we'd  better  have  er  little 
meat;  so  I  went  over  and  got  some.  Now  ain't  that  awful 
erbout  the  col'n?  I  didn't  speck  no  better,  nur  hardly 
ez  good,  uv  Honeycut,  but  I  wuz  mighty  s'pized  erbout 
the  col'n.  Wife  she  'lowed  that  it  wuz  putty  much  ther 
way  with  all  ther  men,  an'  when  I  told  her  that  it  wa'n't 
ther  way  with  me  she  'lowed  that  I  wan't  ernuff  ercount 
ter  rober  man.  Which  way  yer  been?" 

"'Been  over  to  see  Mr.  Honeycut,"  the  lawyer  replied. 

"Yas,  ther  son  uv — wall,  I  don't  talk  erbout  no  man 
when  he's  down  flat  uv  his  back.  Mr.  Gansett,  I've  allus 
sorter  b'l'eved  that  he  had  suthin'  ter  do  with  whalin' 
Mort  Haney,  an'  I  bet  yer  ef  Mort  had  thought  it  ez 
straung  thar  would  er  been  some  music  in  ther  neighbor 
hood.  Wall,  wall,  Mr.  Gansett,  wusht  I'd  been  with  yer 
ther  night  yer  fotch  'em  ter  taw.  Good-by,  gentlemen," 


316  LBN  GANSETT. 

he  added,  taking  up  his  sack.  "Reckon  ther  chillun's 
haungry  by  this  time, — never  seed  chillun  that  hankered 
so  airter  meat, — an*  I  reckon  I'd  better  be  shovin'." 

When  they  reached  Dogwood  the  lawyer  said:  "Gran- 
sett,  I  am  going  to  see  the  sheriff  and  get  him  to  have 
Honeycut  closely  guarded.  And,  by  the  way,  I  am  go 
ing  to  call  on  the  colonel.  I  don't  suppose  I  can  get  him 
to  make  a  confession,  but  I  can  upset  some  of  his  plans." 

About  an  hour  afterward  the  sheriff  called  at  the 
"Picket"  office,  and  informed  Len  that  the  colonel 
wanted  to  see  him.  Len  went  immediately  to  the  jail. 

"Gansett,"  said  the  colonel,  "sit  down."  His  face  was 
haggard  and  his  eyes  were  hollow,  but  his  voice  was 
cheerful,  nor  had  his  manner  lost  any  of  its  cordiality. 

"How  are  you  getting  along,  Len?" 

"Very  well." 

"Have  you  relented  toward  me?" 

"I  was  deeply  wounded,  but  the  wound  is  healing." 

"Will  it  leave  a  scar?" 

"One  which  time  cannot  efface." 

"I  know  how  you  feel,  and  I  do  not  blame  you.  Len, 
there  are  some  men  that  are  made  of  a  strong  mixture 
of  good  and  bad.  Within  them  there  is  a  constant  stru- 
gle  between  the  two  elements.  I  am  one  of  those  men, 
— so  moulded  and  so  directed  by  the  hand  of  fate.  I  will 
tell  you  truthfully — for  the  disposition  to  lie  is  not  up 
permost  in  my  nature — that  I  honor  you,  think  more  of 
you  than  of  any  man  I  have  ever  met.  I  have  robbed — " 

"Colonel,"  Len  broke  in,  lifting  his  hands  in  implor- 
ation,  "I  did  not  ask  you  for  a  confession.  You  know 
how  I  have  revered  you,  how  I  regarded  you  as  my  model 


LEN  G AN  SETT. 

of  manhood.    Tell  me  nothing  that  reflects  upon  your 
self.    Let  me  look  back  at  you — let  me  forget  that — " 

"I  am  a  criminal?" 

"Yes/' 

"But  you  cannot  forget  it,  my  dear  boy.  I  am  now 
engaged  in  writing  a  statement,  which  at  the  proper 
time  shall  be  placed  into  your  hands.  I  shall  not  spare 
myself/' 

"If  it  be  intended  to  sting  me,  to  still  lower  you  in 
my  mind,  I  will  not  read  it/' 

"You  shall  read  it.  You  surely  will  not  refuse  me  so 
slight  a  request." 

"Oh  colonel,  I  now  wish  that  I  had  released  you!" 

"No,  it  is  better  as  it  is.  I  could  not  have  much 
longer  escaped  justice,  and  it  is  better  that  a  friend, 
rather  than  an  enemy,  should  lay  the  hand  of  retribution 
upon  me." 

"I  don't  understand  how  a  man  so  universally 
esteemed,  so  noble  in  many  respects,  and  so  able  intel 
lectually,  could  resort  to  lawlessness." 

"I  do  not  understand  either,  Gansett.  The  adventure, 
the  excitement  of  robbery,  was  necessary  to  my  life.  I 
am  two  men." 

"I  wish  I  had  never  known  but  one  of  you." 

"And  I  wish  there  had  been  but  one  of  me.  So 
Honey  cut  has  made  a  confession?" 

"Yes." 

"I  am  glad  of  it,  for  if  ever  a  man  deserved  to  be 
hanged  he  is  the  man.  There  is  one  thing  I  can  say: 
Len,  I  have  never  shed  human  blood." 

"I  am  glad  to  know  that." 


318  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

"You  mean  that  you  are  glad  to  hear  it,  even  though 
you  cannot  believe  me." 

"But  I  do  believe  you.'* 

"Thank  you,  my  dear  boy!  I  am  glad  that  you  do  not 
think  me  the  worst  man  in  the  world.  When  I  go  to 
the  penitentiary  you  must  come  down  and  see  me.  I 
have,  for  many  years,  hoped  that  the  time  when  I  could 
write  a  moral  book  for  boys  would  come,  and  I  think  the 
opportunity  is  near  at  hand." 

"You  may  not  be  sent  to  the  penitentiary/' 

"Nonsense,  my  dear  boy!" 

"You  may  escape." 

"Will  you  aid  me?" 

Len  arose  and  walked  about  the  room.  "No,"  he 
said,  "I  cannot  aid  you." 

"You  are  right,  but  if  you  know  of  others  aiding — " 

"Don't  say  another  word.    I  must  know  nothing." 

"I  wish  I  had  been  born  with  a  nature  like  yours." 

"Perhaps  you  were  born  with  a  better  nature  than 
mine." 

"Xo,  for  when  I  was  a  child  I  caught  many  glimpses 
of  my  future  life.  Sometimes  I  have  thought  that  I  was 
insane;  but  then,  when  mounted  on  a  swift  horse,  gallop 
ing  through  the  gloom  of  night,  I  have  felt  my  spirit 
bound  with  delight  and  have  felt  my  mind  growing 
clearer  and  clearer  as  I  sped  along.  Gansett,  do  not  go 
so  soon." 

Len  had  rapped  on  the  bars  of  the  door.  "Yes,  I  must 
go  to  the  office." 


LEN  GAN8ETT.  3ic 

"I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask." 
•"Name  it" 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  keep  Dockery  away  from  here." 
"I'll  do  so.    I'll  speak  to  his  wife,  and  she  will  settle 
him." 


320  LEX  OANSETT. 


XXXIII. 

Two  days  later,  and  before  Len  had  again  called  on 
Bently,  the  paper  which  the  colonel  declared  he  was 
preparing  was  placed  on  Len's  desk.  The  contents  were 
as  follows: — 

My  DEAB  LEN — It  is  not  my  purpose  to  tire  you  with  a 
long  account  of  myself,  and,  above  all,  it  is  not  my  inten 
tion  to  degrade  myself.  I  make  this  assertion  at  the  outset, 
lest  you  throw  the  manuscript  aside.  I  was  born  near 
Boston,  Mass.,  in  the  year  1839.  My  father  was  a  lawyer  of 
large  practice,  and  was  a  stern,  though  just,  man.  My 
mother  was  the  soul  of  gentleness,  and  I  used  to  think  that 
my  father  was  not  tender  enough  in  addressing  her,  for  his 
words  were  often  harsh.  It  was  my  mother's  ambition  that 
I  should  enter  the  ministry;  but  my  father,  who  could  not 
tolerate  doctrines  and  creeds,  not  only  discouraged  the 
idea,  but  swore  that  I  should  be  a  lawyer.  When  I  was 
about  fifteen  years  old  my  only  sister  ran  away  and  mar 
ried  a  man  whom  my  father  disliked.  Father  swore  that 
she  should  never  again  enter  his  house.  Several  years 
later,  when  sister's  husband  died,  leaving  her  penniless,  he 
allowed  her  to  come  home,  and,  though  she  continued  to 
live  with  us,  he  never  spoke  to  her  again.  I  went  into  the 
law  office,  and  for  a  time  tried  to  overcome  my  dislike  of 
the  business;  but  what  at  first  was  distasteful,  after  a 
while  became  positively  loathing.  I  had  been  in  the  office 
two  years  when  my  mother  died.  I  never  entered  the  office 
again  after  her  death,  but  ran  away,  and,  after  many  hard 
ships,  secured  a  position  on  a  weekly  newspaper.  My 
father  came  to  take  me  away.  He  seemed  gentler  than  I 
had  ever  known  him  to  be,  and  while  persuading  me  to 
come  home  said,  "Son,  you  need  not  study  law  unless  you 


LEN  GANSETT.  321 

want  to.  How  would  you  like  a  position  in  a  bank?"  I 
replied  that  such  a  position  would  suit  me.  "I  have  already 
secured  one,"  said  he,  "and  your  success  in  life  now  de 
pends  upon  your  honesty  and  efficiency."  The  work  in  the 
bank  was  congenial,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty-three  I  was 
given  the  position  of  cashier.  From  the  first  I  was  sur 
prised  to  see  the  affairs  of  the  bank  conducted  in  so  loose  a 
manner,  and  noticed,  with  peculiar  interest,  that  the  books 
were  not  overhauled.  I  possessed  the  confidence  of  every 
man  connected  with  the  institution,  and  viewing  this  with 
pride,  and  thirsting  for  more  popularity,  caused  the  per 
nicious  seeds  of  hypocrisy  to  be  scattered  within  my  breast. 
I  became  an  active  church-member,  and  took  great  interest 
in  Sunday-schools.  I  knew  that  I  was  a  hypocrite,  and 
knowing  it  caused  me  to  hold  myself  above  honest  people, 
whom  I  knew  felt  the  love  of  Christ.  All  this  time  I  was 
gradually  stealing — I  can  think  of  no  better  term — small 
sums  of  money,  and  the  fact  that  the  irregularities  were 
not  discovered  gave  me  additional  courage.  Of  course  this 
could  not  long  continue.  A  man  always  increases,  but 
never  decreases,  his  system  of  robbery,  and  at  last  I  de 
parted,  taking  nearly  $100,000.  My  father  made  good  the 
shortage,  so  a  newspaper  informed  me,  and  less  than  two 
months  later  the  old  gentleman  died,  leaving  no  property. 
After  this  I  traveled  under  an  assumed  name,  visiting 
nearly  all  the  noted  cities  of  the  world.  I  gradually  lost 
interest  in  what  I  saw,  and  decided  to  do  something.  The 
opportunity  was  not  long  delayed.  An  Englishman,  a 
Frenchman,  and  myself  betook  ourselves  to  the  Alps  and 
became  robbers.  After  six  months  the  enterprise  proved 
disastrous,  especially  so  to  my  companions,  who,  while  in 
the  discharge  of  their  "duty,"  were  shot  and  killed.  I 
escaped,  and  as  the  atmosphere  of  that  country  had  become 
rather  oppressive,  I  went  to  South  America,  then  to  Texas, 
and,  finally,  to  the  neighborhood  of  Abbott's  Ford,  Arkan 
sas,  where  I  resumed  my  real  name,  with  the  addition  of 


322  LEN  GANSEfT. 

colonel,  which  military  prefix,  fn  view  of  my  Alpine  experi 
ence,  I  thought  was  due  me. 

I  had  but  little  money  left  after  buying  my  farm  and 
stage-line.  At  first  I  did  not  intend  to  be  aught  but  a  good 
citizen — to  live  among  the  books  of  which  I  was  fond;  but 
the  spirit  of  adventure,  that  something  which  assists  in 
making  two  men  of  me,  urged  me  to  again  become  a  rob 
ber.  At  one  time  I  thought  that  Dockery  might  be  a  valu 
able  man,  and  with  an  idea  of  converting  him  to  my  unholy 
cause  I  assisted  him  with  his  newspaper;  but  I  soon  found 
that  he  was  weak  and  unstable, — a  dangerous  man  in  whom 
to  confide.  When  I  met  you  I  was  so  struck  with  you  that 
I  centred  my  hopes  on  you,  but  to  save  my  life — notwith 
standing  the  fact  that  we  became  such  fast  friends — I 
could  not  broach  the  subject.  I  have  made  appointments 
with  you,  having  sworn  to  myself  that  I  would  unfold  my 
plans,  but  when  the  time  came  I  could  not  speak.  There 
was  something  about  you  that  sealed  my  lips.  You  doubt 
less  remember  the  time  I  told  you  of  my  suspicions  with 
regard  to  Honeycut.  I  wanted  Honeycut  to  get  into  my 
house  and  be  captured — or  killed — so  that  the  excitement 
would  spur  me  up  to  the  point  which  I  had  endeavored 
to  reach,  but  you  frustrated  the  design  by  meeting  the 
fellow  in  the  yard.  I  had  an  arrangement  with  him  to  slip 
into  my  house  about  midnight.  You  suspected  Honeycut 
of  complicity  in  the  Mort  Haney  whipping  affair.  Your 
suspicions  were  just.  Honeycut  and  I  whipped  Mr.  Haney 
— did  it  because  he  had  become  a  little  too  free  in  express 
ing  himself. 

In  addition  to  my  stage-line,  and  as  an  almost  necessary 
adjunct  to  my  business,  I  owned  a  half  interest  in  a  St. 
Louis  pawn-shop.  In  this  way  watches  and  finger-rings 
were  rendered  useful.  This  is  the  cause  of  my  pretended 
visit  to  England:  I  had  begun  to  fear  you.  Sometimes 
when  you  would  look  at  me  I  could  not  help  but  think  that 
you  could  read  me;  so,  to  convince  you  that  I  was  in  a 


LEN  G  AN  SETT.  323 

foreign  country  at  the  time  of  a  certain  robbery,  I  left  the 
neighborhood.  The  letter  which  you  received  was  written 
in  my  house,  dated  in  advance,  sent  to  an  acquaintance  of 
mine  in  London  and  re-mailed. 

I  have  just  heard  that  Price  and  the  stage-driver  have 
been  captured  in  Missouri,  and  as  they  are  wanted  in  that 
State  the  authorities  here  are  not  likely,  for  several  years 
at  least,  to  have  dealings  with  them. 

Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  have  anything  else  to  say.  I 
have  told  you  pretty  much  all  about  myself  without  going 
into  tiresome  details.  Sometimes  I  hardly  know  what  to 
think  of  myself,  and  after  every  long  meditation  I  am 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that  I  have  been  following  a 
course  pointed  out  for  me.  I  cannot  shaiie  off  a  Calvanistic 
belief  which  has  taken  hold  of  me — a  belief  which  tells  me 
that  the  good  and  bad  cannot  be  materially  changed.  Ras 
cals,  like  poets,  are  born,  and  though  bad  blood  runs  in 
families,  yet  a  black  sheep  is  often  born  in  the  whitest 
flock.  I  hope  that  you  will  remember  my  good  qualities, 
and,  with  the  gentle  hand  of  kindness,  cover  up  in  your 
memory  my  evil  deeds.  I  know  that  I  have  greatly  shocked 
your  belief  in  the  honesty  and  uprightness  of  man,  but  the 
shock — though  perhaps  not  so  violent — had  to  come  sooner 
or  later.  Honesty  among  men  is  much  more  rare  than 
virtue  among  women,  and  nine  times  out  of  ten  the  deepest 
rascal  is  the  most  plausible  talker;  for,  knowing  that  much 
of  his  success  depends  upon  his  address,  he  cultivates  the 
faculty  of  convincing  assertion. 

If  anything  should  occur  to  prevent  me  from  making  a 
more  formal  disposition  of  the  property  which  I  call  mine, 
please  show  this  paragraph,  namely,  that  I  hereby  will  all 
my  effects  to  the  county,  and  that  I  direct,  as  nearly  as 
possible,  the  refunding  of  every  cent  I  have  taken  from  the 
traveling  public.  There  will,  of  course,  be  many  fraudulent 
claims;  but  in  regard  to  such  claims  the  best  possible  judg 
ment,  whatever  that  may  be.  must  be  exercised. 

Yours,  BENTLY. 


324  LEN  GANSETT. 

When  Len  had  finished  the  manuscript  he  took  it  to 
Ned,  placed  it  upon  her  "case,"  and  said: — 
"This  is  something  that  will  interest  you/' 
"What  beautiful  writing!     Oh,"  turning  to  the  last 
page,  "it  is  from  Colonel  Bently!" 

Len  stood  near  her  until  she  had  finished  reading; 
then,  as  she  rearranged  the  manuscript,  he  asked: — 
"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 
"I  hardly  know.    What  a  strange  man!" 
"What  do  you  think  of  his  philosophy?" 
"I  do  not  know  enough  of  the  world  to  correctly  esti 
mate  it.    I  hope,  though,  that  it  is  not  true.    What  do 
you  think  of  it?" 

"I  fear  that  much  of  it  is  true." 


LEN  GANSETT.  325 


XXXIV. 

HONEYCUT  improved  rapidly, — so  rapidly,  in  fact, 
that  he  was  soon  removed  to  the  jail.  He  and  the 
colonel  were  separated  by  iron  bars  so  far  apart  that 
Honeycut  could  thrust  his  head  into  Bently's  apartment. 
The  wretched  fellow  spent  most  of  his  time  sitting  on 
his  straw  bed,  bemoaning  and  cursing  his  stupidity. 

"W'y,  damn  my  fool  soul,"  he  said;  "I  oughter  had 
better  sense  than  ter  turn  myself  wrong  side  out'ard 
jist  beca'se  that  feller  wanter  me  ter.  Wish  I  had  him 
by  ther  neck." 

"He'll  have  you  by  the  neck  before  long,"  the  colonel 
rejoined. 

"Whut  ther  devil  yer  wanter  talk  thater  way  fur, 
hah?" 

"Merely  to  impress  you — " 

"Impress  ther  devil!" 

"That's  what  I'm  trying  to  do." 

"You  air  as  bad  as  I  am,  ever'  bit  V  grain." 

"The  judge  and  jury  will  settle  that  question." 

"You  know  that  yer  got  me  inter  ther  robbin'  bus'- 
ness/  ' 

"But  you  had  committed  murder  before  I  ever  saw 

you." 

"I  killed  er  man,  but  I  done  it  in  self-defence.  Never 
mind,  when  I  git  outen  here,  I'll  settle  with  Gansett.  I'd 
er  done  it  long  'go,  but  you  wouldn't  let  me.  Say,  now, 
in  earnest,  do  yer  think  they're  goin'  to  hang  me;" 


326  LEN  OANSETT. 

"I  don't  see  why  they  shouldn't." 

"Blamed  ef  yer  soul  wouldn't  rattle  in  a  mustard- 
seed." 

"And  yours  would  find  ample  room  to  lie  at  full 
length  on  the  point  of  a  cambric  needle.  I  don't  see 
why  the  authorities  wanted  to  afflict  me  with  your  pres 
ence.  I  am  bad  enough,  God  knows,  but  I  shudder 
when  I  look  at  you." 

"Who  is  that?"  Honeycut  exclaimed,  as  he  heard  the 
front  door  grate  on  its  hinges.  "Blamed  ef  it  ain't  ole 
Hobdy!" 

Hobdy  walked  along  the  corridor  until  he  was  oppo 
site  Honeycut,  then,  taking  hold  of  the  bars,  he  looked 
at  Honeycut,  and  said: — 

"Ken  I  do  any  thin'  fur  yer?  How  would  er  fried 
chicken  strike  yer?  Must  be  putty  hard  on  er  wounded 
man  ter  be  shet  up  thiser  way." 

"I  want  you  to  go  on  erway  from  here,  Hobdy,  an' 
leave  me  erlone;  that's  what  I  want,"  Honeycut  ex 
claimed. 

"Now,  here,  I  didn't  come  ter  torment  yer.  No  mat 
ter  how  mean  er  man  has  been  ter  me,  I  allus  feel  sorry 
fur  him  when  he's  in  er  bad  fix." 

"Wall,  yer  needn't  be  sorry  fer  me.  You  air  a  ole 
coward,  ur  yer'd  a-killed  me  long  'go," 

"That's  er  bad  way  ter  talk,  Mr.  Honeycut." 

"I  talk  as  I  damn  please." 

"All  right;  I  ain't  ther  man  ter  pester  yer.  W'y,  thar's 
ther  col'n.  How's  yer  health,  col'n?" 

"I  am  not  feeling  well,  Mr.  Hobdy.  Am  threatened 
with  fever,  I  think." 


LEN  GANSETT.  327 

"Hope  not,  an*  mo'n  that,  I  hope  yerll  come  out  all 
right.  Cou't  meets  termor'  an'  I  hear  'em  say  they  are 
goin'  ter  take  up  Honeycut's  case  the  fust  one/' 

"That's  none  uv  your  damned  business,"  Honeycut 
growled. 

"Not  in  perticuler,  that's  er  fack.  Wall,  col'n,  I  wush 
yer  mighty  well." 

The  next  day  Honeycut  was  arrainged  before  court. 
He  pleaded  not  guilty, — the  same  plea  he  had  pre 
viously  set  up  before  a  justice  of  the  peace, — but  could 
prove  nothing.  His  confession,  together  with  Hobdy's 
testimony,  left  no  doubt  of  his  conviction.  The  jury, 
without  leaving  the  box,  rendered  a  verdict  of  guilty. 
Honeycut  betrayed  no  emotion,  but,  discharging  a 
mouthful  of  tobacco-juice,  nodded  at  Hobdy,  and 
said: — 

"The  devil  will  git  yer  fur  this." 

"Yas,"  the  old  man  replied;  "but  it  'pears  like  he's 
goin'  ter  git  somebody  else  fust." 

Honeycut  did  not  seem  to  realize  his  situation  until 
sentence  was  pronounced.  Then  he  sank  down  on  a 
bench,  where  he  remained  until  the  sheriff  led  him  away. 
He  was  given  two  weeks'  time  during  which  to  prepare 
for  death.  Murray,  the  circuit  rider,  called  upon  him. 

"Mr.  Honeycut,"  said  he,  "are  you  sorry  for  what  you 
have  done?" 

"Yas,  sir." 

"You  realize  that  your  soul  is  in  danger  of  being  sent 
to  torment,  do  you  not?" 

"Yas;  I  reckon  §o." 


328  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Are  you  repentant  enough — do  you  realize  that  the 
Saviour's  blood  is  all  that  can  save  man?" 

"Yas;  an'  ef  I  bTeve  that,  I'll  go  to  heaven  won't  I?" 

The  minister  arose,  looked  at  the  brute,  and  said, 
"Perhaps  I  am  too  honest  to  engage  in  this  sort  of 
business.  God  knows  that  I  would  not  seek  to  throw  a 
stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  any  man,  but  I  do  not 
think  that  it  is  my  duty  to  encourage  you.  Heaven  is 
the  abode  of  the  gentle  and  noble  children  of  man,  and 
not  for  the  murderer.  I  bid  you  good-morning." 

When  it  became  known  that  Murray  had  refused  to 
give  a  spiritual  prescription  to  Honeycut  many  women 
were  horrified,  but  when  he  had  preached  a  sermon  in 
defence  of  himself  he  stood  forth  acquitted  of  the  charge 
of  inhumanity.  Honeycut  secured  another  preacher,  a 
shouting  old  fellow  who  had  long  been  silenced  by  con 
ference,  on  account  of  a  charge,  a  little  too  well  founded, 
declaring  that  the  "unreverend"  gentleman  had  pulled 
down  a  fence,  and  had  driven  his  hogs  into  another 
man's  cornfield.  This  man  prayed  and  shouted,  and,  in 
the  language  of  Mort  Haney,  rubbed  Honeycut  down  un 
til  he  was  in  good  training. 

One  Thursday  evening,  while  Len  was  strolling  near 
the  village,  he  came  upon  a  party  of  men  engaged  in 
erecting  a  scaffold.  One  of  them,  Mr.  Braley,  threw 
down  his  saw,  shook  hands  with  Len,  and  said: — • 

"Been  livin'  here  a  mighty  long  time,  an'  this  is  the 
fust  work  I've  ever  got  outen  ther  county.  The  sheriff 
axed  me  how  much  I'd  charge,  an'  I  told  him — hurry 
up  thar,  boys,  fur  we've  got  ter  finish  it  ter-day — told 
him  that  I  didn't  know.  He  'lowed  that  money  wuz 


LEN  GANSETT.  329 

scarce,  but  said  that  ef  I  done  ther  work  well  he'd  give 
me  ernuff  meat  ter  do  me  three  munt's.  Don't  b'l'eve 
he  knows  whut  er  contract  he's  un'ertook.  Hurry  up, 
men!  Andy,  saw  off  ther  eend  uv  that  beam.  That's 
it.  Spence,  ef  them  nails  ain't  big  ernuff  take  them 
other  ones." 

The  next  day  Dogwood  was  crowded  with  people  from 
all  over  the  country.  Early  at  morning  Dockery  took 
a,  position  near  the  jail,  and  would,  doubtless,  have 
occupied  the  place  until  the  procession  was  formed  had 
not  his  wife  ordered  him  away.  Honeycut  and  old  Billy 
Winn,  the  preacher,  continued  to  pray  until  the  sheriff 
informed  them  that  the  time  was  up.  The  criminal  was 
placed  in  a  cart.  He  was  pale,  but  was  not  excited — 
had  that  dazed  expression  peculiar  to  the  victims  of  the 
gallows.  He  had  to  be  assisted  up  the  steps  of  the 
scaffold,  and  when  he  stepped  forward  in  response  to  the 
question,  "Have  you  anything  to  say?"  his  knees  shook. 

"I  ain't  got  much  ter  say  that'll  int'rest  these  here 
folks,"  he  said.  "I  killed  Buck,  an'  I'm  goin'  ter  suffer 
fur  it.  I  am  ready — ready  ter  die,  fur  I  b'l'eve  my  sins 
have  been  wiped  out." 

His  neck  was  not  broken  by  the  fall,  and  he  died  a 
slow  and  horrible  death. 

As  Len  and  his  grandfather  turned  away  from  the 
place,  the  old  man  remarked:  "This  is  awful,  but  he 
brought  it  on  himself.  It  is  a  mighty  hard  matter  to 
dodge  the  jedgment  o'  the  Lord." 


330  LEX  GANSETT. 


CONCLUSION. 

COLONEL  BENTLY  was  seized  with  a  virulent  type  of 
fever.  On  the  day  of  the  execution  of  Honeycut  the 
colonel  was  delirious,  but  the  next  day — his  mind  being 
temporarily  clear — he  sent  for  Len. 

"I  haven't  much  to  say,"  he  said.  "I  know  that  I  am 
going  to  die,  and  I  did  not  want  to  die  without  seeing 
you  again.  I  cannot  with  Julian  say  that  I  die  without 
remorse,  as  I  have  lived  without  reproach,  but  I  shall 
do  the  best  I  can  under  the  circumstances.  Strange  as 
it  may  seem  to  you,  Len,  I  am  not  afraid  to  die.  I  can 
not  believe  that  there  are  future  glories  laid  up  for  me; 
but  somehow  I  am  willing  to  leave  it  all  to  the  one  who 
has  had  the  shaping  of  my  life.  I  know  that  this  is  a 
dangerous  dectrine  to  teach  to  those  who  would  take  the 
advantage  of  it  by  attributing  all  their  shortcomings  to 
Fate,  yet  I  cannot  help  but  believe  it.  Honeycut  was 
hanged,  they  tell  me." 

"Yes." 

"How  did  he  stand  it?" 

"Acted  his  part  very  well." 

"Wish  you'd  chip  me  off  a  piece  of  that  ice.  Every 
time  I  think  of  that  fellow  I  want  ice.  Probably  it  is 
because  I  think  he  has  gone  to  such  a  warm  place. 
Thank  you,"  he  added,  as  he  took  the  ice.  "Great  Lord, 
how  my  blood  burns!  Nobody  can  live  in  this  damp 
place.  Look,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "how  it  affected 
Honeyeut's  health." 


LEN  GANSETT.  331 

"Colonel,  is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Nothing,  Gansett.  Yes,  come  and  see  me  often, 
that  is,  when  I  am  myself.  If  I  am  delirious  when  you 
call,  don't  come  in.  Did  I  put  that  ice  in  my  trunk?" 

"It  is  in  your  hand." 

"That's  true,  but  I  thought  I  had  locked  it  up  and 
sent  it  away.  You'd  better  leave  me,  Len." 

Bently  grew  worse  day  by  day,  and  a  physician  who 
had  come  from  a  distance  said  that  recovery  was  impos 
sible.  His  words  were  verified.  One  night,  while  a 
violent  storm  was  blowing,  while  the  frightened  inhabi 
tants  of  Dogwood  were  momentarily  expecting  to  see 
their  houses  blown  away,  the  summons  came.  Len  and 
his  grandfather  were  in  the  cell  at  the  time.  The  lamp 
light  flickered,  the  storm  roared. 

"Is  that  a  stage-coach  running  away?"  the  colonel 
asked  in  a  weak  voice. 

"It  is  the  wind,"  Len  replied. 

"It  has  come  to  blow  my  soul  away." 

The  light  went  out.  Len  struck  a  match,  and  by  its 
glare  he  saw  that  the  man  was  dead. 


The  day  was  beautiful.  The  leaves  were  in  the  glow 
ing  brown  of  maturity,  and  the  streams,  after  the  fierce 
heat  of  summer,  seemed  to  leap  with  brighter  life.  LTn- 
trained,  but  musical,  voices  sang  in  a  little  church.  It 
was  Len  and  Ned's  wedding-day.  Everybody  in  the 
neighborhood  was  present,  not  in  the  church, — for  it 
was  too  small, — but  were  gathered  about  it.  Just  before 


332  LEN  GAN8ETT. 

the  ceremony  was  over,  one  man,  addressing  an  acquain 
tance,  said: — 

"Goin'  ter  have  suthin'  ter  eat  somewhar  on  the 
ground,  I  reckon.  My  folks  ain't  no  hands  fur  nick- 
nacks.  What  they  want  is  meat,  an'  er  plenty  uv  it. 
Eeckon  they'll  have  fresh  meat  here  'stead  uv  middlin's. 
Wall,  it  don't  make  much  difference  with  me  so  it's 
meat.  Excuse  me  a  minute.  There's  my  wife  standing 
over  yonder,  and  I  don't  want  her  to  see  me.  She's  one 
of  the  finest  creatures, — she  sees  me,  and  I've  got  to  go." 

Among  those  who  pressed  forward  to  congratulate 
Len  was  Parker,  the  whiskey-drummer,  who  had  just 
arrived. 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  said  Parker.  "Told  you  I'd  get  my 
watch  again.  Got  it,  yes,  sir,  got  it.  Hear  you  are  going 
north  on  a  bridal  tour.  Would  like  to  go  along,  but  have 
got  business  in  this  part  of  the  country.  Printer  named 
Collins  going  to  run  your  paper  while  you  are  gone,  I 
believe?  Well,  whenever  I  come  around  I'll  help  him 
out.  I've  got  a  fine  line  of  gags  on  hand." 

The  wedding  tour,  necessarily  economical,  was  not  an 
extended  one.  On  the  return  trip  the  train  was  so 
delayed  that  the  stage  was  gone  when  Len  and  his  wife 
reached  Oak  Hill. 

"I  hope  we  shall  not  be  compelled  to  stay  at  that 
miserable  little  hotel,"  said  Ned. 

"We  won't.  I'll  hire  some  one  to  take  us  over  in  a 
wagon." 

A  wagon  was  secured.  "Do  you  know  anything  about 
the  Abbott's  Ford  neighborhood?"  Len  asked  as  they 
drove  along. 


LEN  GANSETT.  333 

"Not  much,"  the  driver  replied. 

"Don't  know,  then,  whether  or  not  anything  has  hap 
pened  within  the  last  two  weeks?" 

"No." 

They  met  no  one, — did  not  go  through  Dogwood,  but 
drove  straight  home.  When  they  got  out  at  the  gate 
old  man  Gansett  came  to  meet  them.  Tears  were  roll 
ing  down  his  face.  He  did  not  speak,  but  leading  Len 
and  Ned  into  the  orchard,  he  pointed  to  a  fcesh  mound 
and  said,  "Your  gran'ma." 

When  they  had  entered  the  house  the  old  man  said: 
"She  wasn't  sick  long,  an'  I  hope  that  I'll  go  as  she  did. 
Don't  let  me  worry  you,  my  dear  children.  This  is  a 
gloomy  place,  but  I  can't  help  it.  Don't  pay  any 
attention  to  me." 

Ned  put  her  arms  around  the  old  man's  neck.  "Grand 
pa,"  she  said,  "you  must  know  that  God's  will  is  best. 
She  was  prepared  to  go  home,  and  wjien  she  went  she 
found  her  house  in  order." 

"God  bless  you,  my  darling!  God  bless  you!"  he 
sobbed.  "You  air  an  angel,  if  there  ever  was  one." 

The  next  morning,  Ned,  addressing  her  husband, 
remarked,  "Some  time  ago  you  promised  that  after  we 
were  married  I  might  go  to  the  office  with  you  every 
day  and  help  you  edit  the  paper.  Nothing  could  give 
me  more  pleasure,  but  I  cannot  go  and  leave  grandpa 
alone." 

"Ned,  you  are  not  only  the  sweetest,  but  the  best  girl 
that  ever  lived.  Has  grandpa  told  you  of  a  certain  plan 
he  has  laid  out." 

"No." 


334  LEN  GANSETT. 

"Perhaps  lie  wants  to  surprise  you." 

"Please  tell  me,  and  I'll  promise  to  be  just  as  much 
surprised  when  he  tells  me." 

"Oh,  you  charming  little  hypocrite!  He  has  rented 
the  little  house  where  your  father  lives." 

"What  for?" 

"To  keep  your  father  from  renting  it." 

"But  what  will  become  of  dad?" 

"He  is  to  come  here  and  live  with  us." 

"There,"  exclaimed  Ned,  "grandpa  is  calling  me. 
Eun  along  to  your  work  now,  and  be  a  good  boy." 

Shortly  after  he  had  reached  the  office,  and  while  he 
was  talking  to  Collins,  Dockery  rushed  in  and  greeted 
him  with  a  demonstration  that  was  almost  violent. 

"Sit  down,  Dockery;  sit  down.  Glad  to  see  you.  How 
are  you  getting  along?" 

"First-class." 

"How  is  your  paper?" 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  the  Honorable  Mangus  Dockery, 
the  'Eagle  of  Freedom'  is — is — I  might  say,  no  more, 
or,  in  more  classic  language,  has  ceased  to  shriek." 
"I  am  sorry  to  hear  it." 

"Oh,  no,  say,  rather,  that  you  congratulate  me.  My 
wife  came  to  the  conclusion,  and  I  heartily  concurred 
with  her,  that  we'd  better  sell  out;  so  we  sold  the 
plant—" 

"The  sprout,  you  mean,"  Collins  suggested. 

"Never  mind,  Cap'n  Collins,  I  know  what  I  am  talk 
ing  about.  Sold  the  plant  to  a  fellow  who  has  moved  it 
off  somewhere.  We — I  speak  of  my  wife  and  myself — 
have  opened  a  small  grocery  store.  Here's  our  business 


LEN  GANSETT.  335 

card.  Whenever  you  want  anything  in  our  line  give  us 
a  call.  Well,  sir,  you  do  not  know  what  a  relief  it  is  to 
get  out  of  the  harness.  I  have  always  known  that  I  had 
commercial  talents,  and  I  have  often  believed  that  I  was 
wrong  in  throwing  away  my  time  in  a  calling  which 
demands  so  little  serious  thought." 

"Do  you  keep  the  books?" 

"Well,  no;  my  wife  does  that." 

"You  are  the  salesman,  I  suppose?" 

"Well,  not  exactly.  You  see,  after  consulting  with  my 
wife,  I  thought  it  better  to  spend  the  most  of  my  valu 
able  time  in  working  on  a  piece  of  land  we  have  rented, 
preparatory  to  the  production  of  vegetables  upon  which 
we  can  live  without  drawing  upon  our  other  resources. 
I  am  now  in  my  working"  garb,  having  just  come  over 
from  the  field;  and,  by  the  way,  if  you  should  see  my 
wife  soon,  don't  mention  the  fact  that  I  came  over  from 
the  field,  for  she  might  not  like  it  because  I  did  not  go 
home  first  and  render  myself  more  presentable.  Eemark- 
ably  neat  woman,  Gansett;  remarkably  neat!  Well,  I 
must  be  getting  back." 

As  Mr.  Dockery  went  out  he  spoke  to  two  men  who 
were  coming  in.  The  two  men  were  Braley  and  Mort 
Haney.  After  cordial  greeting  they  sat  down  and  began 
to  tell  Len  how  much  everybody  had  missed  him. 

"Big  changes  have  happened  here  sense  you  fust 
come,"  said  Haney. 

"I  wuz  jist  er-thinkin*  erbout  that,"  remarked  Braley. 

"Yes,"  Len  replied,  "several  changes  have  occurred." 

"We're  goin*  ter  have  a  railroad  putty  soon,"  said 
Haney. 


336  LEN  GANSETT. 

"I  wuz  jist  a-goin'  ter  tell  him  that,"  remarked  Braley. 

"Yes/'  Len  replied.  "They  have  already  begun  work, 
and  before  many  months  trains  will  be  running  through 
this  place." 

"Kailroads,  I  reckon,  air  mighty  good  things,"  ob 
served  Braley;  "bu"t  I've  hearn  that  they  do  bring  up 
ther  price  uv  meat  might'ly.  Hear  'em  say  that  'fo' 
ther  railroad  went  to  Oak  Hill  yer  could  buy  middlin's 
fur  er  little  ur  nothin',  but  that  yer  kain't  hardly  git 
'em  now  fur  love  nur  money." 

"How  are  you  off  fur  meat  now,  Braiey?"  Len  asked. 

"Well,  I'll  jest  tell  yer  how  it  is  with  me.  When  I 
left  home  this  mornin'  wife  she  'lowed  ef  I  didn't  fetch 
er  middlin'  back  when  I  come  it  wouldn't  be  good  for 
me;  but  I  ain't  made  the  raise  uv  nairy  one  yit." 

"You  are  going  by  my  house,  are  you  not?"  Len  asked. 

"Oh,  yas,  I  ken  go  by  anywhar." 

"Here,"  said  Len,  after  writing  on  the  reverse  side 
of  a  proof-sheet,  "this  is  an  order  for  as  much  meat  as 
you  can  carry." 

"Much  erbleeged,  Mr.  Gansett;  much  erbleeged. 
B'l'eve  I'll  jog  on  out  thater  way  now.  Haney,  ready  to 
shove?  Well,  come  on  then.  Say,  Mr.  Gansett, 
whenever  yer  want  any  work  done,  don't  furgit  ter 
let  me  know.  I  ken  do  it  better  'n  anybody  else,  and  it 
sha'n't  cost  yer  er  cent,  nuther," 

Old  man  Hobdy  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  liv 
ing  with  the  Gansetts.  'T)idn't  know  I'd  ever  live  in 
sich  er  fine  house,"  he  said,  gazing  at  the  rough  logs 
and  rougher  stones  of  the  old  building;  "but  er  man 
don't  know  one  day  what's  goin'  ter  come  ther  next." 


LEN  GANSETT.  337 

October  mellowed  into  November,  the  crowning  glory 
of  an  Arkansas  year.  In  the  evening  Len  and  his  wife 
would  walk  along  the  shore  of  the  beautiful  river,  and 
in  the  twilight  they  sang  old  songs.  Old  man  Gansett 
rarely  smiled.  His  vigor  was  gone,  but  in  the  evening 
he  walked,  not  along  the  river,  but  in  the  old  orchard 
where  his  wife  was  buried.  One  evening,  when  Len  was 
with  him,  he  pointed  to  an  apple-tree  above  Mrs.  Gan- 
sett's  grave,  and  said: — 

"Me  an'  your  gran'ma  set  out  that  tree  many  years 
ago.  For  a  long  time  now  it  has  had  fewer  an'  fewer 
apples  on  it  ever'  year,  an'  this  year  it  only  had  two. 
They  growed  clost  together  way  up  at  the  top,  an'  the 
day  your  gran'ma  was  buried  one  o'  them  fell  off. 
There's  the  other  one  up  there  now." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  get  it  for  you?"  Len  asked. 

"No,  let  it  stay." 

One  morning  the  old  man  did  not  come  to  breakfast. 
He  said  that  he  felt  too  bad  to  eat  anything.  A  physi 
cian  who  was  immediately  summoned,  said  that  Mr. 
Gansett  had  pneumonia.  A  few  days  later,  on  a  calm 
and  beautiful  day,  his  body  was  tenderly  borne  out  into 
the  old  orchard.  Just  as  the  coffin  was  lowered,  an  apple 
fell  from  the  top  of  a  tree  and  rolled  into  the  grave. 

A  railroad  now  passes  through  Dogwood,  and  though 
it  may  affect  the  price  of  "middlin's,"  yet  it  is  a  great 
advantage  to  the  general  public.  The  old  Gansett  house 
has  undergone  no  change,  and  in  the  evening,  when  the 
weather  is  fine,  Len  and  his  wife  walk  along  the  shore  of 
the  beautiful  river. 


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quarto,  boards  ;  printed  in  colors,  75c. 

CONVENTIONAL  LIES  OF  OUR  CIVILIZATION.  By  MAX  NOR- 
DAU.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 

For  Sale  at  all  bookstores,  or  sent  postpaid  on   receipt  of  price  by 

LAIRD  &  LEE,  Publishers,  CHICAGO,  ".  *•  A. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


DC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

A  A      000120526    9 


